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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LOST VISION 



BY 



MISS ALICE A. HOLMES 

AUTHOR OF ''POEMS," 
"ARCADIAN LEAVES," AND "STRAY LEAVES" 




JUN 2! 






NEW-YORK 

THE DE VINNE PRESS 

1888 






Copyright, 1888, 

BY 

Miss Alice A. Holmes. 



©e&tcatiott. 



THESE PAGES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY 

DEDICATED TO MY VERY HIGHLY 

ESTEEMED FRIEND, 

B. A. WATSON, A. M., M. D. 

AS A TOKEN OF GRATITUDE FOR HIS MANY 

KIND PROFESSIONAL SERVICES 

IN MY BEHALF. 



INVOCATION. 



Oh come, my kind and gentle muse, 

Inspire my theme, my heart and brain; 
And bear me on thy glowing wings 

Through varied scenes of life again. 
E'en back to childhood's rosy hours, 

When joyous sunbeams cheered my way, 
And I was wo?it, with merry glee, 

To play at will the livelong day ; 

Or first ins/ruction's dawning beam 

Its mystic rays around me shed ; 
Or fairy tales of fancy bright 

Their magic scenes before me spread. 
How fast they fled, those golden years 

Of cloudless sunshine, mirth and bloom ; 
Ere pain and care their shadows cast 

To shroud my heart in grief and gloom. 

Ah ! well aday, on pensive wing 

Came sorrow's dark and dreary night ; 
And deep affliction's ruthless hand 

Bereft mine eyes of vision bright. 
Oh, total loss, so grave, so sad j 

Deprived of sight ! Oh, who can bear 
A life barred out from gleam of light, 

Entombed with grief and blank despair f 



Nor budding spring, nor summer's bloom 

Nor lovely autumn's varied sheen, 
Nor winter robed in fleecy white 

Adorned with waving evergreen, 
Nor sun, nor moon, nor loving smile 

One single ray or beam bestows, 
Nor prisoner bound in dungeon deep 

Such black, unbroken darkness knows. 

But why lament? It imist be so; 

May heavenly grace and light divine, 
My troubled spirit soothe and calm, 

My heart invest, my soul enshrine ; 
And warmest love with gentle hand 

My footsteps guide, my path attend ; 
And friendship sweet with cheering smile 

Her kindest sympathy extend. 



CONTENTS. 
Reminiscence, in Six Chapters n 

POEMS. 

i. To My Classmate, Miss Frances J. Crosby. ... 65 

2. Fond Recollections. To My Brother, David 

Holmes 67 

3. Miss Mary Evans 68 

4. Home, Sweet Home 68 

5. My Pupil, Master Harry Hintemann 70 

6. A Wreath for an Album 7 1 

7. Parting with My Brother, William J. Holmes. . 72 

8. Inscribed to Mrs. Jean Bruce Washburn. ... 73 

9. Christmas 74 

10. A Valentine 7 6 

11. Twilight 7 6 

12. Mrs. N. C. Hills. "Thy Father." 77 

13. To My Niece, Mrs. James C. Hueston 78 

14. Light of Other Days 7 8 

15. Greeting to My Aunt, Mrs. Charles Musk. ... 80 

16. Erin. Dedicated to Charles Taggart, M. D. . .80 

17. Miss Sadie Constance Traphagen 81 

18. To Miss Annie Connars 82 

19. Number Three 82 

20. To the Memory of Miss Ella L. Thomas. ... 83 

21. My Young Friend, Luella Stackus 84 

22. To Miss Ella Holmes, On Her Bridal Day. ... 85 

23. The Gray Mule 86 

24. To the Rich 87 

25. To My Friend, Mrs. Bessie Shaffer 88 

26. To My Friend, Peter Kelly 89 

27. The Past 9 1 

28. Vision 9 1 



PREFACE. 

THE appearance of this little volume before the 
public is in some measure due to the express 
desire of many warm and sincere friends of the writer, 
who will gladly favor its circulation by their liberal 
patronage ; first, for her personal benefit, and secondly 
to obtain a slight souvenir of one who truly merits 
their highest esteem, whose life, though shrouded in 
darkness, has been by no means a blank, either to 
herself or friends, for she has most patiently and 
perseveringly improved every available opportunity 
of adopting such employment as would render her self- 
sustaining. Writing poetry and teaching music have 
been her chief delights. She has also surpassed many 
with sight in various kinds of handiwork, especially in 
fancy knitting and crocheting, so that her busy brain 
and skillful fingers have seldom been unoccupied; 
but, as she herself states, through much sickness and 
adversities has reached her sixty-seventh year empty- 
handed, yet earnestly hopes to realize a small income 
by the sale of these pages, which she cheerfully sub- 
mits to the good- will and kind patronage of a gener- 
ous public. 



REMINISCENCE. 

CHAPTER I. 

EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. 

OUR family record shows that my first appearance 
in this beautiful world occurred on the 9th of 
February, 182 1, in a very old village (said to have 
been settled by the Romans), called Winfarthing, in 
the county of Norfolk, England. I was the fourth 
child of my parents, and the second daughter; the 
first two, a boy and girl, having early passed from 
earth to the bright world above, are safe in the arms 
of Jesus. Hence, only one little brother remained to 
welcome my arrival, which my mother said he did 
with great delight, and, though quite a pet himself, was 
not at all jealous of the attention paid me ; being a 
girl, he seemed to think me a nice doll, with which he 
could amuse himself, and would look curiously into my 
eyes, as they opened and shut, and wanted to play 
with my hands, and put his own chubby fingers into 
my mouth, and, indeed, wanted to caress me generally, 
in a manner more forcible than agreeable to my in- 
fantile endurance; but, after a few kind reproofs, 
became more gentle, and treated me very tenderly, but 
would often look wonder-struck when I squirmed and 
cried. He was quite satisfied to see me in my mother's 



12 LOST VISION. 

arms, but stoutly rebelled against my being put in bed. 
However, when a cradle for my daily repose was 
brought into requisition, he was highly pleased, and 
would at times, if allowed, rock it so energetically as 
to endanger my safety; but, being strong and active, 
seldom remained long at any one post. I was called 
Alice, after my father's mother (who, by the way, was 
no ordinary person), being the granddaughter of Lord 
Lefevre; but her mother, by marrying out of her rank, 
so grieved and offended his lordship, that she was in 
consequence disinherited. I would here mention that 
when I was about a year old, my parents removed to a 
small adjoining village called Shelfanger, of which are 
my earliest recollections. When I was two years and 
two days of age, Tommie and I were presented with a 
baby sister, named Elizabeth, for whom, at times, we 
manifested a most ardent affection, and might have 
killed her with kindness, but for our mother's watchful 
care ; however, when interested in our toys, or neigh- 
boring little visitors, the baby had but few charms for 
us. We were occasionally permitted to play in the 
garden, from which we sometimes stealthily escaped to 
a little green near by, a favorite resort and playground 
of the children in the village, by whom we were there 
attracted ; now and then we returned of our own accord, 
but more frequently passed under and scampered before 
the rod, not spared to enforce our obedience. Thus, on 
gilded wings, the sunny hours of childhood sped quickly 
by. Now came my first trial. Tommie was five years 
of age, and it was deemed best to send him to school, 
which almost broke my heart. I was not to be trusted 
alone in the garden, or elsewhere, therefore was closely 
confined in the house ; and often, to keep me out 



EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. 13 

of mischief, placed in my little chair and posted by 
the cradle to rock my sister, an occupation which I 
heartily detested, and would still, but thanks to the kind 
inventor of nice, self-swinging cribs, which render such 
monotonous employment unnecessary. Well do I re- 
member how eagerly I watched at the window for my 
brother's return, and when I caught but a glimpse of 
his cap would make for the door, and hastily toddle 
to meet him at the gate. He was fond of going to 
school, and learned rapidly, and often amused himself 
by assuming the dignity of master, when, by promise 
of some great reward, he could induce me, with one 
or two other children, to let him teach us our lessons. 
In this way I soon learned the alphabet, and then 
wanted a book; so my father bought me a primer, 
and, with the aid of my mother and Tommie, I could 
very soon spell words of one and two syllables. Now 
followed in rapid succession four eventful years of my 
child life. I had reached my fifth year, when mother 
said I must go to school, to which I think I should 
not have objected, could I have gone with Tommie ; 
but he, alas! attended a master's school, where girls 
were not received, and I must go to Miss Bessie Mar- 
tin, of whom I had heard occasional hints that she 
was a cross, disagreeable old maid. When the day for 
my initiation arrived, I positively refused to move a 
step, and cried frantically; but my mother was firm, and 
actually took me in her arms and carried me to the 
school-house, where, amid tears and sobs, I was very 
kindly received by Miss Martin, in whom I was most 
agreeably disappointed. Never shall I forget the 
sweet, patient expression of her lovely face, her soft 
blue eyes, smooth, glossy brown hair, and attractive 



14 LOST VISION. 

manners by which she soon won my love and respect; 
still, I did not like going to school, and would often 
loiter by the way to gather wild flowers, pick berries, 
or watch the tiny fishes at their play in the sunny brook, 
and in consequence, like all wayward, willful chil- 
dren, frequently found myself in a sad plight, with apron 
soiled, hands stained, and feet quite wet, and in this con- 
dition seldom reached school before ten o'clock, when 
dear Miss Martin would, with gentle reproof, take off 
my apron, wash my stained hands, and put my shoes 
in the sun to dry; thus, by her continued kindness, 
she corrected my naughty, wayward propensities. I 
must ascertain if she is still living, and if so, present her 
with a copy of this book as a token of my grateful 
remembrance of her patient endurance of all my 
childish faults. In general I made fair progress in 
the primary studies, but was, indeed, exceedingly fond 
of play, for which, however, my mother allowed me 
but little time, being desirous to make me a useful, 
industrious girl, and fully resolved that I should early 
learn to sew and knit, take care of my own clothes, 
and assist her in such domestic duties as I was able. 
I was strong, healthy, and active, and being so much 
of a companion to my brother, became very fond of 
his amusements, and could play marbles and ball, 
run, jump, slide, and skate, equal to any boy of my 
age in the village; and, like Mary's little lamb, where- 
ever Tommie went, I was sure to go. By the more 
refined and gentle, I was often called a tomboy; 
but that had little restraining influence upon my 
actions. I cared not for dolls, and to play house or 
nursery games with other little girls had no charm 
for me. My chief delight was to be out-of-doors, and 



EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. I 5 

once, when a band of gypsies passed through our vil- 
lage, I greatly admired and felt much inclined to follow 
them. I often envied the poor children who worked 
in the fields picking stones, dropping wheat, barley, 
etc., and upon more than one occasion stole away 
with them, instead of going to school, and spent the 
day in meadows, hunting birds' nests, chasing butter- 
flies, gathering flowers, and picking berries, coming 
home looking like a forlorn little tramp or nobody's 
child. For this I was justly reproved and punished; 
but that in no degree lessened my inclination to repeat 
the offense, but I was intimidated by fear of my father's 
anger, who was a military man, hence a disciplinarian, 
and enforced obedience. My love of Nature was 
deep and strong, and when, through the windows of 
my soul, I viewed her fair and charming face, my 
young heart seemed to expand with joy and delight. 
The sunshine, the moonlight, and star-gemmed sky 
were to me marvelous objects of beauty and wonder. 
I had few childish fears and fancies, and little or no 
faith in ghosts or goblins, though I heard them much 
talked of; for at that time, and in that secluded part of 
the county, superstitious stories were often told and 
firmly believed in by many. Strange to say, I cannot 
remember that I was ever afraid in the night, however 
dark and lonely. With all my fun and frolic, I was 
very pious on Sundays, and really loved to go to 
church and Sunday-school, and must here say the 
religious instruction there received has been a light 
to my feet and a lantern to my path through life's 
dark and dreary journey. Just here, one word to the 
memory of the dear old rector, whose name was 
Morris, with his pleasant face and kindly manners, 



l6 LOST VISION. 

winning the hearts of children who always gathered 
around him whenever he appeared in our midst. 
When arrayed in his sacerdotal robes, his appearance 
well became his hallowed calling; but he has long- 
since passed to his eternal reward beyond the beauti- 
ful, shining river. As time passed on, by habit I 
became more industrious, learned to do many useful 
things, and was quite skillful with my needle, took a 
deep interest in picture and story books, and com- 
mitted my lessons with little effort, found special 
delight in reading an illustrated copy of Bunyan's 
" Pilgrim's Progress," being attracted by the curious 
names of the characters therein represented, with 
whom I made myself perfectly familiar; of course I did 
not then understand the allegorical nature of the book, 
and thought it a wonderful and true story. Learning 
to write was a difficult task, and I often laugh as I 
recall the fantastic and ridiculous appearance of my 
first pot-hooks on the slate, compared to the example 
I was supposed to copy; but through much tribula- 
tion, vexation, perseverance, and not a few crying- 
spells, I began to improve, and an occasional glance 
into Tommie's neatly written copy-book inspired me 
with new zeal; for whatever Tommie did, I wanted to 
do also, and finally learned to write very fairly. I 
was still playful and wayward and fell into many mis- 
haps, and was in consequence more reproved than 
praised. I will now rehearse two or three unfortunate 
adventures of my childhood. 

A babbling brook ran through the village, and 
passed close by the cottage in which we lived, and at 
a point where it was quite deep, on the side of the 
bank near the water, grew some pretty blue flowers, 



EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. I 7 

which seemed to hold for me a strange fascination, 
and three days in succession I fell into the brook, 
while trying to reach the violets, and should have 
drowned but for the prompt assistance of kind neigh- 
bors. The third day I was rescued by a baker who 
was just coming to wet his oven-mop, and saw me fall 
in. I believe he thought me a terrible child, but 
kindly fished me out and carried me home. My 
mother was much distressed, but cured me of my 
flower fever, by sending me at once to bed, and keep- 
ing me there till late the next day. And here I can- 
not refrain from saying that I always thought that 
baker a very funny little man, for he had a wide 
mouth, large teeth, small black eyes, hooked nose, 
and rusty brown hair; he usually wore a low-crown 
paper cap, short jacket, knee-breeches, gray stockings, 
and a large white apron, was pleasant in manner and 
generally good-natured, was by religious profession a 
Baptist, and, at the time of his immersion, I was stand- 
ing close by the baptistery and, after his being plunged, 
saw him scrambling up the steps out of the water. The 
scene appeared so comical to me that I shook with 
laughter, and, in consequence, was sent home at once 
in disgrace. My next misfortune occurred through 
carelessness. It was near Whitsuntide, a time of feasts 
and fairs in our village, and mother always treated us 
to custard. I had been sent to a farm-house to pur- 
chase eggs, and on my return, when within a stone's 
throw of our home, a grand gentleman passed me, 
on horseback. I believe he was a lord or nobleman 
of some high degree; at all events, he was very hand- 
some, and his horse the finest animal I had ever seen. 
As I turned to look after him, my foot slipped, and down 



1 8 LOST VISION. 

I fell with my burden. Every egg rolled out of the 
basket and was broken. With dismay, I saw them 
lying in the sand, and, of course, to gather them up 
was out of the question. So, sadly regretting the acci- 
dent, I took my basket and went crying home, told 
my story, expecting a severe scolding and to be de- 
prived of custard ; but my mother, ever kind and for- 
bearing, being moved by my sorrowful tears, I was 
readily pardoned, under fair promises to be more 
careful in future; therefore, Tommie was sent for a 
new supply of eggs, and we had plenty of custard 
during the Whitsuntide festival. Upon another occa- 
sion, when, for some misdemeanor, I was prohibited 
from going to the green, I obtained permission to 
invite some of my little neighbors to play with me in 
my own yard, among whom was my special friend, 
Sophie Brown. To her I was much attached. She 
lived on the same side of the brook, and I saw her 
daily. Her light curly hair, bright blue eyes, rosy 
cheeks, and winning manners possessed for me a won- 
derful charm, though when we fell out, as we some- 
times did, I would vent my ill-humor by calling her 
frizzle-top. We played under the window near where 
my mother was seated with her sewing, and could hear 
all that was going on. For a time all went smoothly; 
then we began to disagree, and finally to quarrel. I be- 
came very angry and said some dreadfully bad words, 
upon which my mother came out and immediately 
ordered me into the house, and shut me up in the 
back room till my father should come home, where I 
had plenty of time to reptnt of my sins, for he had 
been detained and was quite late that evening; but 
when at last I heard his footsteps, I began to shake 



EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. 1 9 

and tremble, wondering what the nature of my pun- 
ishment would be; but for some time I was kept in 
suspense, as he talked awhile, ate his supper, and then, 
I suppose, deliberated a little as to what course he 
should pursue. However, at length the door opened, 
and I was brought out, and, after a severe reprimand, 
told to kneel down and ask God to forgive me, then 
to beg my mother's pardon and faithfully promise 
never again to say such wicked words, after which I 
had my supper and gladly went to bed. Time would 
fail to tell of all the varied scenes of my childhood, 
many of which are bright and joyous, and still remain 
fresh and green in my memory ; but to them I must 
here say farewell, for a sad affliction and dark days 
awaited me. 



CHAPTER II. 

LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 

IT was now the winter of 1830, and in February 
occurred the ninth anniversary of my natal day, 
and always on that occasion my grandma — after 
whom I was named — presented me with some token 
of love and remembrance. This time it proved to be 
a book, bound in red and gilt, replete with handsome 
pictures, pretty rhymes, and fairy tales, which I eagerly 
read with much delight. But, alas ! reading was an 
amusement of which I was soon to be deprived. About 
this time, in our part of the country, there arose quite 
an excitement in regard to families emigrating to 
America. My father and two of his cousins at once 
became interested and strongly thought of coming 
first and providing homes for their families ; but, for 
good reasons, my mother could not accede to that 
proposition ; but early in April my father resolved to 
sell out his business and bring us all to this country 
at once, notwithstanding the serious opposition of 
relatives and friends. One of his brothers, with whom 
father had always been a great favorite, said to him, 
half in sorrow, half in vexation, " Brother Will, you are 
taking your children to a strange land to become beg- 
gars and wanderers"; but, I am happy to say, this 
prediction has never yet been fulfilled. Affairs were 
speedily settled and preparations made for the journey. 



LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 21 

Mr. Early Granger decided to bring his family and 
come with us, and Mr. John Granger alone, who 
afterward sent for his wife and family and settled on 
Long Island, N. Y., where his children and grand- 
children still reside. A large van was engaged to 
convey us to London, for this was prior to the general 
use of railroads and steam-cars. How fast the busy 
days flew by. The 28th of April was set for our 
departure, and a bright and lovely morning it proved. 
It had been agreed that we should start from the 
Fighting Cocks Inn, Winfarthing, where the van was 
to meet us at ten o'clock a. m. sharp, and there an 
early dinner was ordered for our party. And now 
came the leave-taking. How bitterly my dear mother 
wept in parting with her two brothers, her only living 
relatives, who afterward, however, followed her to this 
country, one of whom is still living, Mr. Samuel Hart 
James, of 21 Park street, Jersey City Heights. In 
saying good-bye to sweet Sophie Brown, I was heart- 
broken ; how often have I thought of her since and 
upbraided myself for ridiculing her really beautiful 
hair and wished she could know that in spite of our 
childish quarrels I loved her very dearly and still hold 
her in fond remembrance. At high noon the baggage, 
consisting of trunks, boxes, baskets, bundles, etc., 
was closely and carefully packed in the van, and the 
teamster loudly called out, " Now, then ; all aboard ! " 
Mrs. Granger and seven children, my mother with five 
of us were assisted into the huge vehicle and the sig- 
nal for starting given. Then, amid cries of farewell, 
good-bye, and God bless you, the great wheels of the 
conveyance rolled smoothly along over the level road, 
which, for some distance on either side, was bordered 



2 2 LOST VISION. 

with green grass bright with daisies and buttercups, 
and near the ditch which divided the road from the 
hawthorn hedge bloomed the beautiful spring violets. 
At the end of two miles and a half we passed through 
the village of Shelfanger, which had been our happy 
home for the last seven years ; and there, on the main 
street, were gathered many friends and familiar faces 
to wish us a long and last good-bye. The team- 
ster would not stop, but in an instant Tommie and 
I rushed to the platform of the van and, doubtless, 
would have jumped off but for the interference of 
a dark, grizzle-headed, gruff man, who sternly or- 
dered us back at once. I think he was an assist- 
ant to the driver; but Tommie and I were not 
to be outdone, and a small penknife served to make 
two holes in the canvas at the back of the van, 
at which we each placed an eye and gained another 
peep at the surroundings. The last familiar objects 
of which we caught a parting glimpse were the 
church, the school-house, and the lovely green, where, 
with our youthful playmates, we had so often spent 
many happy and frolicsome hours. On and on We 
rode, till some time in the afternoon we reached the 
large town of Diss, where we halted to water the 
horses. Here my father, his cousins, and others of 
our party took leave of relatives and friends, who thus 
far had accompanied them on foot. Tommie and I 
had now crouched down in a corner not far from the 
holes in the canvas, at which I saw my father looking. 
Then he sternly inquired how they came there. The 
truth had to be told, and Tommie owned up that his 
knife had made them ; but this being a time of sor- 
row, he received but a slight reproof. The day was 



LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 23 

long, for we traveled far into the twilight, and then put 
up for the night at a place called Berry. On reaching 
London, we went directly on board the ship named 
the Brunswick, which usually ran to Quebec, but was 
now bound for New-York. As much as I can recol- 
lect, she looked stout and strong, though not very 
handsome. The captain's name was Blake, who was 
a fine, good-natured looking gentleman and proved to 
be very fond of children. The vessel did not sail for 
two or three days after we were on board, and, of 
course, a gang-plank was laid for the convenience of 
those who wished to go ashore, but forbidden to chil- 
dren unaccompanied by their parents. However, hav- 
ing seen Tommie and several others disobey the rule, 
and being anxious to know what was going on in the 
queer-looking places about the dock, I was tempted 
myself to steal a march, and soon reached the wharf 
in safety. After peeping and peering about some 
time, I started up the pier toward the city, taking good 
care, however, not to lose sight of our ship. I was 
afraid to go far enough to see anything very inter- 
esting. The busy street was crowded with trucks, 
wagons, carts, and vehicles of every description, and, 
beginning to fear my absence would be discovered, I 
hastily retraced my steps and fearlessly ascended the 
gang-plank; but just as I reached the top, saw a man 
looking at me very earnestly, at which I was a little 
frightened, but with some presence of mind stepped on 
to the side of the ship and threw myself forward upon 
the deck. The good captain happened to be stand- 
ing near and kindly lifted me up and led me to our 
quarters on the ship, where we met my father coming 
out in search of me, for I had been missed and sought 



24 LOST VISION. 

for among the children of passengers ; but it seems no 
one had observed me go down the plank. My parents 
were so overjoyed at my safe return that reproof was 
omitted. The following day, father took Tommie and 
me to see " Rag Fair," which was truly marvelous to 
behold, and far beyond my power to describe; per- 
chance Dickens or other authors may have done so in 
some work with which I am not familiar. Many of 
the varied scenes of that fair will never fade from my 
memory. I was amazed at the multitude of men, 
women, and children rushing hither and thither; the 
grand display of goods in shop-windows, crowded 
stands on the sidewalks groaning under the weight of 
articles, definite and indefinite, and I think there is no 
class of nouns " that can be known or mentioned " 
which is not here represented; for I am sure I saw 
common, proper, improper, collective, verbal, and 
participial, with much more which I cannot now relate. 
Right here is a " Punch and Judy " show with which 
I was highly amused ; there a blind fiddler, playing 
reels, jigs, etc., for the entertainment of the throng; 
by his side stood a bright-looking boy, holding out 
a dingy cap to collect the free-will recompense of the 
listeners ; and now, a little farther on, appears a one- 
armed man, looking as if he had just returned from the 
wars, with a bundle of ballads, two for a ha'penny, and 
occasionally roaring at the top of his voice snatches of 
" Home, Sweet Home!" " Rule, Britannia," and " God 
Save the King." In fact, my eyes, ears, heart, and brain 
were completely dazed with the tumult and uproar, 
I was much afraid of being lost, and clung closely to 
my father's side; but Tommie walked along like a 
sturdy little major, just in front of us. I was glad when 



LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 25 

we turned into a more retired street and were wending 
our way back to the ship. I had heard much of Lon- 
don, and imagined it must be something like the 
" Beautiful City " mentioned in the Bible, and, there- 
fore, felt quite disappointed at the dark, smoky ap- 
pearance of the streets through which we passed; 
but of course I had not visited the parks, palaces, and 
grander locations of the city, and as the ship was to 
sail next day, there was no further opportunity for 
sight-seeing. On arriving at the ship, we found on 
board my grandma and other relatives and friends 
who had come to take their last leave of us, and with 
this sad scene ended my recollections of my own 
dear native land. 



26 LOST VISION. 



FAREWELL TO MY NATIVE LAND. 

Farewell to the cottage, the garden and flowers, 
Where oft in my childhood passed frolicsome hours; 
Farewell to the meadow, the brook and the trees, 
Where the music of birds is borne on the breeze ; 
Farewell to the lane, the green hill-side and glen, 
Whose paths I have trodden again and again; 
Farewell, dear companions, so joyous and gay, 
For alas ! I must go away, far away. 
Farewell to the school-house and the church with its 

bell 
That echoes so sweetly o'er vale, hill, and dell ; 
Farewell hallowed ground where my loved kindred 

sleep, 
May angels the brightest a watch o'er thee keep. 
Farewell, dearest friends, first-loved of my heart, 
For the changing of time now bids us to part ; 
E'en though we are severed, let this be our trust, 
That again we shall meet in the realms of the just. 
Farewell, merry England, dear land of my birth, 
May sunshine and gladness e'er crown thee with mirth ; 
Though again thy fair shores I never may see, 
Yet long will I cherish fond mem'ries of thee. 



CHAPTER III. 



LOSS OF VISION. 



THE next morning proved bright and fair, and 
might have been ominous of a safe though not 
very prosperous voyage. I suppose wind and tide 
favored the departure of our outward bound vessel, 
for though father, Tommie, and I were early on deck 
she had already cleared from the wharf and was sail- 
ing smoothly along, though I could scarcely be per- 
suaded that she was moving at all, as it seemed to 
me everything on land, and all the ships and other 
craft in port were hastily running away from us ; and 
when in due course of time everything but sky and 
water had vanished, I was but the more confirmed in 
my childish fancy. The captain was as fine a man as 
ever took charge of a ship, and the sailors a noble 
crew. The passengers in all numbered about two 
hundred. During the first week all looked bright and 
hopeful; but on the tenth day out, "there being no 
paid physician on board " Dr. Stratford, a passenger, 
was earnestly entreated to visit a sick child in the 
steerage, which he did at once very cheerfully, and 
sad to say, pronounced it a bad case of small-pox, 
and the second day after the child died. The doctor 
had no virus, and not more than one-half the pas- 
sengers had been vaccinated, and but few, if any, who 
had not availed themselves of this most important 



28 LOST VISION. 

precaution escaped the terrible disease. Some had it 
in its worst form, others very light; seven cases only 
resulted in death. 

Every possible care was taken to improve the sani- 
tary condition of the ship, and the captain was exceed- 
ingly kind to the sick, and daily sent them such 
nourishment as his stores afforded. There were two 
large coops of chickens on board which, one by one 
and two by two, were sacrificed to make broth for the 
invalids, and much to my after regret the last one was 
killed and cooked before I was taken sick. We had 
several severe storms, but I do not remember of being 
at all afraid of the sea, and was never better pleased 
than when Tommie and I were permitted to go on 
deck even when it was quite rough, and the ship roll- 
ing from side to side so that standing was difficult 
and my downfalls frequent and forcible, from which, 
however, I received no serious injury; and if, occa- 
sionally, a little hurt, I would not cry, fearing I would 
be sent below. This pleased the kind captain, who 
often playfully patted me on the head and called me 
a brave little sailor. In fair weather, when there was 
just breeze enough to create light, fantastic waves, 
and the golden sunbeams gayly danced on their foam- 
ing crest, I spent many hours watching their sportive 
play, which to me seemed like some enchanted game. 
Never could I though obtain a glimpse of the mer- 
maid, with comb and glass in her hand, of whom I 
had often heard and read in story-books. On one 
occasion I heard my father say to his cousin, Mr. 
Granger, " There is every indication of a storm, the sea 
is covered with porpoises," and added something about 
the wind which I did not quite understand. However, 



LOSS OF VISION. 29 

I lost no time in making my way on deck without 
leave or license, and in high glee beheld the school of 
porpoises which seemed to me to be turning somer- 
saults as they madly plunged up and down. Suddenly 
the wind rose and the waves began to run high, when 
presently one dashed over the ship and gave all on 
deck a free and unexpected bath. I was thrown down 
and fell close by the bulwark, but unhurt, only blinded 
by the salt water which filled my eyes as I went down 
with them wide open. A kind sailor helped me up, 
and a moment later I spied my father coming toward 
me in the same plight, and, a forlorn-looking pair, we 
hastened below. We had now been at sea about four 
weeks, and unfortunately neither my brothers, sisters, 
or I had been vaccinated; therefore, it was not un- 
looked for when they all sickened with the fearful 
malady which had so generally prevailed on board. 
However, they had it in a mild form and were con- 
valescent before I felt or showed any symptoms of 
the same. But, alas ! I was not to escape its terrible 
effects. About nine days before the welcome news of 
land in view was announced ended all my fun and 
frolic and stolen escapades on deck, for I was taken 
very ill at once and soon thickly covered with unmis- 
takable small-pox. My mother afterward told me 
that I was a very trying patient, had much fever, and 
was quite delirious, craved everything I could not 
have, and above all raved for chicken broth, though I 
well knew, as before stated, the last chicken had 
been disposed of. Memory failed me in my sickness 
till we arrived at Quarantine, June 19, 1830, and of 
all the days in my sixty-six years this was the one to 
be most fondly remembered and lovingly cherished, 
2a 



30 LOST VISION. 

for with it closed my last view of human face and 
nature fair; but the lovely appearance of Stat en Island 
that bright morning is still fresh and green in my 
memory and can never be effaced. My father held 
me in his arms while other passengers were being 
lowered to the boats, and at last came our turn. I 
cried bitterly when dear Captain Blake said " good- 
bye, and God bless you, my brave little sailor." I am 
glad he was never grieved by the knowledge of the 
sad misfortune that awaited me. I faintly remember 
that my father afterward told me Captain Blake never 
again came to New-York. I beg leave' here to say 
that my brother David, who was but two years of 
age, was the first passenger set on shore by a friend 
who had him in charge ; he (my brother) is now a 
resident of Detroit, Michigan. On the way from the 
landing up to the hospital we passed a beautiful or- 
chard, and the large green apples gleaming in the 
sunshine attracted my attention, and earnestly I en- 
treated my father to pull one; but he sadly replied, 
" No, my child, I cannot steal." There being so many 
patients and but few nurses in the hospital, my mother 
was admitted to take care of me and my brothers and 
sisters who were not yet quite well. 

I was still very sick, and the physicians gave little 
or no hope of my recovery. A severe inflammation 
settled in my eyes which resulted in the loss of sight, a 
deprivation of which none, not even the most sympa- 
thetic, can form the slightest conception. At first I 
was dazed and bewildered; would not believe that 
I was blind, and begged piteously to be taken out 
of that dark room. Finally, to pacify me, I was pil- 
lowed up in an invalid-chair and wheeled out on to the 



LOSS OF VISION. 31 

balcony; but alas! even there all was dark! dark! 
dark ! amid the blaze of noon all was irrecoverably 
dark, total eclipse without hope of day. Still I was 
unwilling to admit the sad truth, and often imagined I 
clearly saw objects which had no existence save in my 
fevered brain. My recovery was slow and tedious, 
though the long, bright days on gilded wings sped by 
apace. It was now past midsummer, and another 
event for which there must be some preparation drew 
near ; I was soon to have a new brother or sister. My 
mother asked the physician, Dr. Hitchcock, how long 
before I could be safely taken from the hospital ; to 
which he kindly answered, " Not for some time ; but 
if desirable, you and the children can remain here 
with her until September, which will save you much 
expense, and you shall be well cared for." My father 
was consulted by letter and acceded to the kind propo- 
sition. On the morning of July 28th, bright and early, 
my first American-born sister made her appearance. 

A birth in that hospital was a rare occurrence. The 
baby, therefore, received a warm and hearty welcome ; 
she was fair of face, form, and feature, and was named 
Sarah, but generally called Sallie. Doctor Hitchcock 
had taken a great fancy to Tommie, and gave him 
a very desirable situation in his office, where he re- 
mained several years. I fretted much for my father, 
and by the middle of August began to count the days 
when he would come and bring us to Jersey City, 
where he had rented and furnished rooms ready for 
our reception. At length the day for our departure 
arrived, and amid tears for brother Tommie, fond fare- 
wells to the kind doctor, and sweet memories of dear, 
lovely Staten Island, my first, last, and only view of 



32 LOST VISION. 

America's fair land, my father carried me on board the 
steamboat Bolivar for New- York, where, among its 
passengers, we met the late Mr. Henry Drayton and 
family, who expressed much sympathy for my afflic- 
tion, and afterward proved our kind first neighbors in 
Jersey City. 

SOLILOQUY. 

My harp is on the willow hung, 

To me the morning brings no light, 
Nor ray of sun or moon, I see 

But one unchanging night. 
1 cannot view those gem-like stars, 

That sparkle in the ethereal skies, 
Nor trace the clouds with golden fringe, 

That o'er the sunset rise. 
Nor gaze upon the blooming flowers, 

That make the face of nature gay, 
Nor watch the ocean's crested waves, 

Where dancing sunbeams play. 
To me the variegated earth 

Would seem a dark, unbroken plain, 
Had mem'ry failed to store the scenes 

That fancy brings again. 
Though nine fair summers on me shone, 

And scarce a cloud obscured my way, 
And nature charmed me more and more 

With each succeeding day. 
Yet, ere a tenth has passed its bloom, 

Affliction comes with sorrow's blight ; 
My heart is crushed! my vision barred! 

I'm banished from the lieht! 



LOSS OF vision. 33 

And even hope's fair star grows dim 

With clouds that o'er my spirit rise, 
And hide the gleams of holy light 

Imparted from the skies. 
But, oh ! I will with patience bear 

The trials none can feel or know, 
But those on whom its gloom must fall, 

By him who wills it so. 
And faith, not sight, shall be my guide, 

To Canaan's fair and verdant shore, 
Where faith is lost in perfect sight, 

And darkness is no more. 



CHAPTER IV. 

A TRIP TO AND FROM JEFFERSON COUNTY, NEW-YORK. 

MANY months rolled away before I regained dis- 
position or strength enough to busy myself with 
amusements of any kind. The hope of recovering 
sight was my whole theme. My parents took me to 
the Eye Infirmary in New-York and were there told 
that my case, at best, was very doubtful, and that 
nothing could be done till my health was fully estab- 
lished. From time to time the best skill was consulted, 
but alas all proved unavailing, and darkness sealed 
my doom ! The dreary, lonely days passed slowly on, 
bringing little change or interest to me. I sadly 
missed Tommie, but was occasionally taken on a visit 
to cousin Early Granger, who had settled in Brooklyn ; 
and this I greatly enjoyed, as his children had been 
my playmates in merry England. I gradually gained 
strength, and it soon became apparent that I still re- 
tained much of my natural vivacity and jubilance of 
spirits. I was now eleven years old, and eager to 
resume my studies, but failed to obtain admission into 
the school with my sisters, as I could not study my 
lessons like other children ; but to my great joy, Miss 
Jane Provost, who kept a select school for young 
children, consented to receive me. Under her tuition 
I acquired a very fair knowledge of the primary 
branches. My schoolmates and neighboring children 



A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 35 

were all exceedingly kind to me, and in their merry 
circle I found much enjoyment. One and another 
would lead me carefully along by the hand to their 
favorite resorts of play ; now to the green surrounding 
the liberty-pole; then to the thatched cottage garden, 
and more frequently to the river shore, in the vicinity 
of Edge's old wind-mill, where often shoes and stock- 
ings were removed, and, seated on a log or side of a 
boat, we hailed with great glee, the inflowing tide to 
bathe our warm and tired feet, and, perchance, growing 
impatient of its arrival, we gayly pranced barefoot over 
the smooth sand to meet the murmuring waves. I 
met many mishaps and vexations in consequence of 
my affliction, still I fondly cherished, in my secret heart, 
a lingering hope that my sight would yet be restored. 
I remembered reading in the New Testament of 
the Saviour opening the eyes of a blind man by 
anointing them with clay made with spittle, and in my 
childish, simple faith imagined that by using the same 
means a like result would be vouchsafed to me ; but, 
though I repeatedly applied the remedy, the orbs of 
my imprisoned vision remained sealed. At times I 
was very lonely and restless, and craved occupation; 
frequently stole into the cellar to employ myself in 
cutting up thin sticks of wood with a hand-saw, much 
to the distress of my father, who feared I would soon be 
minus a finger or two by continuing this practice; 
but, to mother's reproof on the subject, I once said, 
" Well, you won't let me work, and I must do some- 
thing, even if it is mischief "; to which she sadly replied, 
" Oh, my dear child, you can never do any work." I 
had been early taught to knit and sew, and I now felt 
sure that with a little assistance I could resume knitting, 



36 LOST VISION. 

and by incessant importunity persuaded my mother to 
set up a stocking and let me try, and, much to her 
surprise, succeeded admirably, and soon became quite 
proficient in the art. I also learned to cut and sew 
carpet-rags, and make myself generally useful about 
the house. Thus, between play and employment, my 
time was pleasantly occupied, which rendered me far 
more contented. I experienced great delight in at- 
tending Sunday-school, to which I was kindly welcomed 
by the lamented late Rev. Dr. Edmund Barry, first 
rector of St. Matthew's Episcopal Church, in this city. 
I there received much religious instruclion, being 
taught to commit collects, hymns, verses of Scripture, 
etc. Dr. Barry was very anxious that all the children 
should be well instructed in the Church Catechism, and 
to this end promised to reward with a Prayer-Book 
each scholar who would commit and recite to him in 
presence of the school. I, being familiar with the 
Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and Ten Commandments, 
with a little assistance eagerly and easily com- 
mitted the other parts, and was the third in order 
who won and received the prize. I became warmly 
attached to the church, and by my own request was 
baptized in that faith which I believed made me a 
member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor 
of the kingdom of Heaven, and subsequently was 
confirmed by the late Bishop Doane, and became at 
once a communicant, and still remain a member of the 
Episcopal Church. Hitherto, my father was quite un- 
decided in regard to making Jersey City our permanent 
home, and, thinking he would much prefer living in 
the country, was overpersuaded to join a friend near 
Alexander Bay, in Jefferson County, N. Y. Thus, 



A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 37 

closing his business here early in May, 1832, we set 
out on our journey thither, which proved long, tedious, 
and expensive, for traveling in those days was fraught 
with many difficulties and frequent delays. However, 
we finally reached our destination in safety, and were 
warmly and heartily greeted by Mr. G. and his family. 
My mother was sick and wearied with the journey, 
and sad at heart grieving for dear Brother Tommie, 
who was left behind as it was deemed best not to take 
him from his situation till we should be settled in our 
new home. My father was bitterly disappointed with 
the appearance of things generally, and I think would 
at once have returned to Jersey City; but mother's 
health would not then admit of further fatigue. As 
hiring a house or apartments there was out of the ques- 
tion, we remained with Mr. G. while a log-house was 
rudely constructed for our accommodation, of which 
we took possession about the 1st of August. Mr. G. 
and family were exceedingly kind to me, and the 
children, one and all, vied with each other in their 
eager attentions to gratify my desires, and were ever 
ready to guide my feet over the rough and tangled paths, 
brooks, bridges, rail-fences, etc., and when danger or 
difficulty beset our escapades, one on either side would 
take my hand and the others closely attend as a body- 
guard; never once was I neglected, slighted, or left 
behind in consequence of my deprivation. Day after 
day we roamed at will in various pursuits, and often 
when the midsummer sun proved too warm for com- 
fort, we ventured into the edge of the woods, where the 
leafy, drooping branches of tall trees met and inter- 
twined with each other so closely that only here and 
there stray gleams of mystic light pervaded the shady 



38 LOST VISION. 

bowers beneath. Here we gathered wild flowers, 
played house, party, and school, seldom thinking of 
returning home, only when warned by appetite or 
sound of the great horn blown at noontide and even- 
ing to signify to the farm hands that meals were ready. 
I must confess that my enjoyment of out-door sports 
rather dampened my ardor for instructions and em- 
ployments, nor was I anxious to overtax my brain 
with study, though always pleased to hear fairy tales 
and other pretty stories, and sometimes committed 
recitations so as to sustain my part in our juvenile 
entertainments. My health greatly improved and I 
grew stout and strong, and frequently with one and 
another went twice a day on errands to the store two 
miles distant, at a place then called Flat Rock, which 
I am informed has since changed its name to Plassa. 
These bright and palmy scenes could not last; the 
bloom and verdure of summer had passed away, and 
the wild, stormy days of the autumnal equinox came 
on hurried wings, and the " winter of our discontent " 
was at hand. The wind and rain rendered our still 
unfinished and scantily furnished log-house anything 
but comfortable, especially for the reception of my 
only American brother, William J., who rather suddenly 
made his appearance on the 29th day of that Septem- 
ber. He was a plump, chubby little fellow, with whom 
we were all delighted, and made him fondly welcome 
to our rural surroundings. When the merchants, with 
their stores and supplies, returned from New-York, it 
was ascertained they had unfortunately forgotten or 
neglected to purchase window-glass; thus, oiled paper 
or muslin was brought into requisition instead. My 
father, when necessity required, was something of a 



A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 39 

carpenter, though lack of tools proved a great dis- 
advantage. He had, however, already made two bed- 
steads, with round rails and split boards for slats; 
also a table, several stools and benches, and now tried 
his skill at making a cradle for our infant brother, 
which, like the old woman's voice, proved " good and 
strong," but on its badly rounded and clumsy rockers it 
was difficult to " steer it right." Now came another trial 
for me; vacation was over, and other children had to 
resume school, which left me very lonely and much 
confined to the house, with but little employment; 
thus, I was assigned the monotonous task of rocking 
or jolting that horrid cradle, when my mother and 
sisters were busy. This generally aroused my ill- 
temper, under which the movement of said cradle 
rapidly increased in velocity, and, like a locomotive 
with a reckless engineer, often jumped the track, and 
in a few moments baby, cradle, and I appeared either 
straight across or "slantingdicular" on the other side 
of the apartment. These sudden transitions sometimes 
disturbed baby's repose, and mother's attention was 
required to soothe and quiet him. Then my sister Eliza- 
beth, obedient, meek, and gentle, was appointed in my 
stead custodian of the cradle, while I, in disgrace, 
was reprimanded and doomed to two or three hours' 
solitary confinement in the next room, but as neither 
locks nor bars were deemed indispensably necessary 
in our present abode, I was not often left long alone, 
for the other children soon made their way in to me, 
and I gladly entertained them, and sometimes induced 
them to sue for my pardon and release, which was 
generally granted. Now and then one of Mr. G's family 
would come across lots and take me for a few days' 



40 LOST VISION. 

visit at their house, where I was made much of, very- 
kindly treated, and delighted myself in helping the 
children to shell corn. Now came the sweet Christmas- 
tide, which, there, was not observed with many festivi- 
ties; no merry-making, no joyous greetings, no tur- 
key, no mince-pie, no plum-pudding, and worst of all, 
no Santa Claus with his gifts of books, toys, and candies 
for children ; thus the beautiful holiday season passed 
almost unnoticed. I now recall an incident which I 
beg leave to mention. There had been an unusual 
demand for fine sugar, and the merchants' supply was 
exhausted, and none could be bought for'many miles ; 
but some of the farmers had stored a fair quantity of 
maple sugar, of which a kind neighbor had given my 
mother a large lump to sweeten food for our hungry 
baby brother, who was by no means satisfied with the 
maternal nourishment, and morning, noon, and night 
consumed a cupful of soaked bread or cracker. But, 
sad to say, the last grain of sugar was disposed of, 
and how or where to obtain more could not at once 
be determined, and molasses was resorted to as a sub- 
stitute, which, however, the little fellow did not at all 
relish, and after the second or third taste refused to 
swallow; consequently, all day long, was very fretful, 
and at 10 o'clock, p. m., was screaming with hunger so 
loudly as to attract the attention of a gentleman pass- 
ing by, who must have had a very kind heart, for he 
knocked at our door and inquired what was the 
matter with baby ; and, being truly informed, expressed 
much sympathy, and said as he departed, " You shall 
hear from me again. Good-night"; and before noon 
the next day the same gentleman returned, whose 
knock at the door was readily answered. " Good- 



A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 41 

morning ! " he cheerfully exclaimed. " I am glad baby 
is not crying; here are two or three pounds of maple 
sugar, which I trust will keep him sweetly quiet for a 
while," and with a friendly "good-bye" took his leave. 
We now and then received a cheerful letter from 
Tommie, but still my mother fretted and grieved for 
him deeply. From the general tenor of my father's 
remarks, I well knew he was by no means delighted 
with the country, and I sometimes caught words which 
led me to think he would eventually return to Jersey 
City. It was now near the middle of February, and 
the weather very cold; much snow had fallen, and 
sleighs of every description were flying hither and 
thither. While my father was preparing to go out on 
St. Valentine's Day, in conversation with mother I heard 
him say : " I am fully determined to remain here no 
longer. I will see Bogart; he has a large, covered sleigh, 
and if he will take us on any reasonable terms, we had 
better go as far as Utica, for traveling now is much 
easier than when the snow is off the ground, and we 
can wrap the children in shawls, robes, blankets, etc., 
so they will take no harm, and with the feather beds 
provide a warm and comfortable seat for you and baby." 
Next morning at breakfast we children were informed 
of the intended journey, and preparations at once 
commenced. Three days later, bright and early, we 
were bag and baggage on our way to Utica. I now 
smile as I recall the grotesque appearance we must 
have presented; every available wrap was brought into 
requisition, while special care was bestowed on me, for 
over all my other garments I was lastly enveloped 
in a warm overcoat of my father's, which created 
much laughter at my expense. This was a long and 



42 LOST VISION. 

never-to-be-forgotten sleigh-ride for us children, which 
we highly enjoyed, but proved very tedious for dear 
motherand our baby brother. The merry jingle of sleigh- 
bells was heard on every side, and we were passed by 
many gay parties out for a winter's ride over the crisp, 
sparkling, and beautiful snow. We did not travel 
after dark; therefore, it was the afternoon of the third 
day when we reached Utica, where we put up for the 
night at a very comfortable hotel, and next day, as had 
been previously arranged, furnished rooms were secured 
in which we sojourned till late in spring. Fortu- 
nately, through the landlord, my father obtained em- 
ployment with a shoe firm, where he gave perfect 
satisfaction, and advantageous inducements were offered 
him to settle in Utica; but that was out of the question, 
and on or about the ioth of May, with the good 
wishes of friendly neighbors who had made our ac- 
quaintance, we took passage, with a pleasant captain 
and good accommodations, on a canal packet for 
Albany, where, duly arriving, we went on board a 
steamboat for New-York, which was safely reached 
early next morning, and from thence we proceeded 
over the Jersey City ferry, where several friends, who 
had been informed, of our movements, w r ere in waiting, 
and had already engaged rooms for our reception in 
the very neighborhood we had left, where we were 
warmly greeted, and the Jefferson County baby heartily 
welcomed. In the course of a few days things 
generally were put in order, and my father resumed 
business. Our trip to Western New- York now seemed 
like the memory of a varied and somewhat troubled 
dream. Brother Tommie, of course, lost no time in 
coming to see us, having been at once informed of our 



A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 43 

return. The happiness of our meeting can be more 
easily imagined than described; my mother shed 
tears of joy as she once more clasped him in her arms, 
and we children, being quite overjoyed at his presence, 
all talked at once, giving him no opportunity for 
either questions or answers. When our enthusiasm 
had somewhat subsided and tranquillity reigned, Tom- 
mie seated himself by me in a corner and anxiously 
inquired concerning my sight, and though I was 
obliged to own that it had not in the least improved, 
I expressed a strong and cheerful hope that it would 
yet be restored, in which he as strongly concurred. 
We then recalled many sweet memories of our happy 
play-days in merry England, but his visit was limited, 
and next morning he cheerfully took his leave and 
returned to Staten Island. 



CHAPTER V. 

SEVEN YEARS IN THE NEW-YORK INSTITUTION 
FOR THE BLIND. 

^TEW trials and new joys awaited me. As I grew 
SI older my thirst for knowledge increased, but I 
knew of no source from which I could obtam it. How- 
ever, in my sixteenth year I again suffered from a 
severe attack of inflammation in my eyes, induced by 
cold, and was strongly advised to consult Dr. Condict, 
of New- York City, who proved a very kind and 
friendly gentleman. He prescribed a soothing remedy 
for the inflammation, but frankly told me that sight 
was extinct; and thus vanished the last ray of delu- 
sive hope which I had so long and vainly cherished. 
The doctor expressed much sympathy for my afflic- 
tion and asked some questions regarding my educa- 
tion, and informed me that there was a school or 
institution for the blind then held in an old-fashioned 
mansion on Eighth Avenue, between Thirty-third and 
Thirty-fourth streets, New-York City, and kindly ad- 
vised me to make application for admission and try to 
bear my privation patiently. Upon inquiry, this 
school proved to be a New-York State institution, 
but received pupils from other States on reasonable 
terms. On learning that the blind were there taught 
music, all the English branches, including reading with 
the fingers, and several skillful arts, my desire to be- 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 45 

come a pupil knew no bounds ; and upon due delib- 
eration my father deemed it advisable to send me. 
But my mother hesitated to give consent, fearing I 
should miss her care and home comforts ; but much 
to my delight it was finally settled that I should go 
for a year or two. And though my ardor to obtain an 
education never for a moment diminished, yet, when 
all preparations were completed and the day of my 
departure drew near, some gloomy shadows clouded 
my bright dreams, and golden fancies of future glad- 
ness, and in secret many tears were shed at the idea 
of leaving my companions, my Sunday-school, and 
our home circle which was now large, bright, and 
happy, brother Thomas, in whose society I found much 
enjoyment, being at home and engaged in business 
with father. The days flew by, and now dawned the 
2d of January, 1838, on which I was to leave my 
home and enter the school whose instruction I was so 
eager to share. In taking leave of my prattling little 
sister Mary, I wept bitterly ; but being solaced by 
kind words and a promise that she should be soon 
brought to see me, I banished my grief and strove to 
be brave and cheerful, and, accompanied by the beloved 
late Mrs. Elizabeth Gautier and my dear mother, 
on the afternoon of that day gladly entered the New 
York Institution for the Blind. We were courteously 
received by the superintendent, Mr. Silas Jones, with 
whose friendly manners I was at once much pleased. 
After my bonnet and wraps were removed, he pleasantly 
and smoothly passed his hand over my head, saying 
my intellectual organs were pretty well balanced, and 
there was no doubt but that I would learn rapidly. 
By the first of these remarks I was greatly puzzled, 



46 LOST VISION. 

for I then knew nothing of phrenology, and wondered 
what kind of organs he had discovered in my head. My 
mother and Mrs. Gautier remained but a short time, 
being anxious to return to Jersey City before dark; and 
though a little sad at heart, I cheerfully bade them 
good-bye, promising to be a good girl and try to be 
contented. I was now introduced to the matron, 
Miss Denny, and to the principal teacher, Mr. William 
Boggs, who escorted me to the girls' sitting-room, 
where several, learning that the new pupil from New 
Jersey had arrived, were assembled to receive me, 
and here I was at once made acquainted with Miss 
Frances J. Crosby, the celebrated blind poetess; 
Miss Cynthia Bullock, Miss Ann Smith, Miss Kate 
Kennedy, Miss Imogene Hart, Miss Josephine Ma- 
rieuse, and others, all of whom extended to me a warm 
and friendly greeting, and entertained me for some 
time with an account of the studies, rules, and regula- 
tions of the school. Then Miss Bullock, an expert 
reader of raised print, read me a chapter from the 
New Testament, to which I listened with delight. She 
then gave me the book for inspection, and when I had 
eagerly passed my hand over one or two of its pages, 
and found myself unable to distinguish a single letter, I 
was sadly discouraged, fearing I should never, by this 
method, learn to read ; and that had been one of my 
most earnest desires. It was now tea time, and I was 
conducted to the dining-room by Miss Kate Kennedy 
and seated next to her, where, side by side, for seven 
years, we occupied the same place at table. 

At eight o'clock, p. m., a service of prayer was held 
in a large, central room used as a chapel, at which all 
the pupils were required to be present. My name had 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 47 

been added to the roll, and when called, with mingled 
emotions, I distinctly responded. My thoughts fondly 
wandered back to my home, though my heart beat high 
with joy at the realization of my brightest anticipations 
that I was now really a pupil of this most excellent and 
very wonderful school which afforded the blind a fair 
English education. After prayers, we entered another 
apartment called the East Music Room, where an 
hour or more was consumed in chatting, playing, and 
singing by eight or ten of my new schoolmates, com- 
posed of girls about my own age, all of whom were so 
active, bright, and happy, I could not realize that 
they, like myself, were deprived of sight. At a quarter 
before ten, Miss Crosby announced that she would 
take charge of the new pupil from New Jersey, as I 
was to room with her, and at once, with a kind good- 
night to all, taking me by the hand, she started off at 
a pace which rendered me rather timid, every step 
being new and strange to my " unfrequented feet," 
which, observing, she told me not to be afraid as she 
would not let me break my neck ; and after crossing 
one of the main halls and reaching the third door 
beyond a long flight of stairs, she remarked, " Here 
we are; this is our room." We entered, and closing 
the door she said, " Now, Dollie (which was one of 
her pet names), this is a square room facing Eighth 
Avenue, and right here on this side is your bed, and 
here is your trunk, and here is a place to hang your 
clothes"; in short, she "tended me like welcome 
guest." Before saying our prayers, however, she in- 
quired into my religious views, adding that she was 
a Methodist, and I at once declared myself an Epis- 
copalian, to which she humorously replied, " Oh, then 



48 LOST VISION. 

you are a churchman," and made a rhyme which ran 
something like this : 



*& 



Oh ! how it grieves my poor old bones, 
To sleep so near this Alice Holmes ; 

I will inform good Mr. Jones 

I cannot room with a Churchman ! 

Then she hoped I would not be offended or feel hurt, 
as she was only in fun ; and with a warm good-night 
retired to her side of our apartment. Being weary, I 
crept into my new bed and was soon in the arms of 
Morpheus, 

" Dreaming of home, dear old home — 
Home of my childhood and mother." 

Next morning, at the 6 a. m. bell, my dreams van- 
ished and I awoke rather bewildered; the mingled 
sounds of tramping feet, the hum of unfamiliar voices, 
the opening and shutting of doors at once greeted my 
ears, and some moments elapsed before I could locate 
my surroundings, but was soon fully aroused by a 
pleasant morning salutation from Miss Crosby, who 
informed me it was time to rise, as the next bell would 
announce breakfast, and if we failed to reach the 
dining-room within five minutes after its welcome 
ring we should not gain admission; thus, I was soon 
up and duly prepared for the morning meal, which 
over, a general separation ensued, each going his or 
her way as inclination or duty directed. I was taken 
to the sitting-room and shown an alphabet card of 
large and small letters in raised print, and in half an 
hour was highly delighted to find that I could dis- 
tinguish several of the large letters at the top, and 
guess at some of the small ones at the bottom, spelling 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 49 

monosyllables. Morning prayers were held at 8 a. m., 
followed by a brief lecture on phrenology to the entire 
school, young and old, great and small, by Mr. Jones, 
closing with a series of personal questions relative to the 
subject, to which he received several erroneous and 
rather amusing answers, proving that all were not inter- 
ested in the subject of phrenological organs; but this did 
not seem to surprise or annoy the good-natured lecturer, 
who dismissed us with a pleasant good-morning. The 
regular day-school now opened, and, being divided 
into classes of different grades, assembled in their 
respective rooms. I was seated at the foot of the 
junior spelling-class, numbering twenty-five pupils, 
under the tuition of Mr. Boggs, who was a most ex- 
cellent, faithful, and patient teacher. Next to me sat a 
pleasant-spoken lad, named Joseph Lazzay, of Brook- 
lyn, who seemed disposed to be quite friendly, and 
asked me if I could spell. " Yes," I replied, " a little," 
rather timidly, having already learned it was contrary 
to rules for the boys and girls to hold any communi- 
cation. Nineteen words were correctly spelled, and 
the next was " askew" missed by four successively, 
while I quaked, fearing it should reach me, but much 
to my relief it was spelled by my new friend, Joseph, 
who thereupon left my side and went four above me. 
My word was " gladness," and I proudly spelled it 
correctly. In the next two or three rounds there 
were several failures; but Joseph seemed to be the 
champion and was now at the head of the class. The 
lesson consisted of a hundred words, out of which 
but one remained ; " Tweezers," and this was mis- 
spelled in every possible way till it reached me, 
fifth from foot of the class, which, by some wonderful 

3 



50 LOST VISION. 

chance, to my own surprise, I correctly spelled and 
went to the head, where I was welcomed by Joseph, 
who softly whispered, " I am glad you are here." A new 
lesson of fifty words was now spelled and pronounced, 
first by the teacher, then repeated several times 
by teacher and pupils altogether; this being the 
method of instruction. An hour had expired, and the 
class adjourned to an opposite room, where the rudi- 
ments of grammar were taught by Mr. Jairus Bottom, 
a blind gentleman, who, though still a pupil, assisted 
in teaching the primary branches. I was here taken 
to my seat by a girl who had greatly failed in spelling, 
and seemed to be quite out of temper, muttering to 
herself, " I don't like this old grammar, nor Jairus 
Bottom either," and when all were seated and silence 
prevailed (as if to give vent to her ill-humor), she 
abruptly said, in a loud tone, " Mr. Bottom, the new 
pupil from New Jersey is here," to which he gently 
replied, " That will do, Carrie, your information is 
quite unnecessary ; I am fully aware of her presence." 
At this I was a little surprised, knowing he could not 
see, but afterward learned he was informed by the 
superintendent, who left the room as the class entered. 
Mr. Bottom now commenced the exercises by review- 
ing a previous lesson treating of the parts of speech, 
at which I was much puzzled, for, knowing nothing 
of grammar, I wondered what articles, nouns, pro- 
nouns, adjectives, etc., could have to do with lan- 
guage; but the class seemed to understand it quite 
well, as all the questions were readily answered. Mr. 
Bottom then inquired if I had ever studied grammar, 
and I frankly acknowledged that I had not ; but he 
kindly assured me that by paying attention I would 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 5 1 

find it easy, and told me to repeat after him with the 
other pupils. A new lesson on nouns, pronouns, 
and their properties, was now imparted with much 
perseverance by the indefatigable blind teacher, who, 
on the stroke of eleven, dismissed us with the in- 
junction to assist each other. After a recess of five 
minutes we were summoned to the study of elemen- 
tary arithmetic, under Mr. Charles Coe, also an ad- 
vanced blind pupil, who was very proficient in the 
science of numbers, and taught with ease and ability. 
Carrie was still at my side, and having gained her 
equilibrium of temper, politely introduced me to Mr. 
Coe, who, in a pleasant and affable manner, welcomed 
me to his class, and inquired if I was at all familiar 
with arithmetic. I replied, " No, I have never ci- 
phered and only know the tables, and understand 
notation and numeration." With this he seemed 
pleased, and hoped I would prove attentive and 
rapidly advance in the study. Then, turning to the 
boys, who were talking and shuffling with their feet, said, 
" Come boys, get still there," and proceeded with a 
general rehearsal of former lessons, preparatory to 
ciphering, which he stated he would commence with 
the class in a few days, and occupied the remainder 
of the hour in exercises of mental arithmetic. 

It was now noon, and the loud ringing of a hand- 
bell announced dinner, to which all hastily repaired ; 
but, alas for me ! this was soup-day, and soup I very 
much disliked; but, on reaching my place at table, 
found a dish already served, and a plate of meat 
and potatoes for which I had but little relish. Miss 
Kennedy inquired if I was enjoying my dinner. 
" No," I replied, " I cannot eat it." Just then, one of 



52 LOST VISION. 

the waiters in charge, observing my soup untasted, while 
others had disposed of theirs and, like " Oliver Twist," 
were asking for more, kindly drew my plate nearer, 
saying, " Here is your soup, it will get cold." " Thank 
you," I answered, " but I am not fond of soup." " Oh ! " 
she said, " I am sorry," and went away, returning 
soon, however, with a cup of tea, and some nice bread 
and butter, provided by permission of the matron as a 
special favor to a new pupil. The afternoon session 
of literary studies, under Mr. Boggs, closed at 3 p. m., 
and was directly followed by instruction in vocal and 
instrumental music, and several mechanical arts, under 
various teachers. Mr. Anthony ReirT, of New-York 
City, principal teacher in the musical department, by 
years of patient and untiring zeal won the love and 
esteem of all under his kind and masterly tuition. The 
girls not engaged in music immediately repaired to the 
sewing-room, where I was presented and cordially 
received by the teacher in this department, who gave 
me a seat near her, and inquired if I could knit or 
sew ; to which I answered that I could knit lace and 
stockings and sew a little, though not very neatly 
since I lost my sight. " Can you thread your own 
needle?" she asked. " Oh, no," I replied, "my 
mother or sisters always did that." " Well, by prac- 
tice," she encouragingly added, "you will soon learn," 
and with a needle already threaded gave me a towel 
to hem, and when I had finished it she inspected the 
sewing and pronounced it very good, and told me she 
would now give me some finer work, and, to my great 
surprise, that same afternoon, I found myself making 
the sleeves of a shirt, and wondering what my dear 
mother would say to that, who never seemed to ap- 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 53 

predate my kind of sewing, being so very neat and 
particular herself. General employment ceased at 
5 p. m., and an hour for rest or recreation ensued. 
Chatting, and promenading two by two up and down 
the long halls, or on the veranda, was a favorite pas- 
time with many of the pupils, in which I was invited 
by Miss Kennedy to participate until tea-time, after 
which a number of the girls gathered in the sitting- 
room, and several inquired for the new pupil, each 
and all seeming anxious to show me some attention. 
I now learned that every evening, before prayers, an 
hour's reading was given by Mr. Boggs, and knowing 
I should greatly enjoy this, went with Miss Bullock 
to the reading-room; and here, I must not omit to 
mention that Miss Bullock is the authoress of a very 
pretty book of poems, entitled "A Bunch of Pansies." 
Mr. Boggs first read the daily papers, then pleasantly 
remarked, " Well, the book I ordered has not come 
up; but I have here a choice selection from various 
authors which I will read this evening." After prayers, 
I returned with Miss Bullock to the sitting-room, which 
seemed the very shrine of social enjoyment ; and thus 
ended the pleasant programme of my first day's ex- 
perience in that delightful school, where the sunshine 
of knowledge, sympathy, and gladness shed then- 
sweet halos over the dark path of the lonely and deso- 
late blind. I soon became familiar with the house 
and could find my way alone to the different apart- 
ments, and learned the names and voices of most of 
my kind and cheerful companions ; and though I often 
fondly thought of friends and the dear ones at home, 
I was resolved to be contented and improve the op- 
portunities now within my reach. In a few weeks I 
3a 



54 LOST VISION. 

could fairly read the raised print and was promoted 
into several of the higher classes, and began to study 
the rudiments of music. Mr. Jones was a most excel- 
lent superintendent ; firm in discipline, but kind, fatherly, 
and patient with the unfortunate class under his care, 
and I deeply regret that the limited pages of this little 
book will not permit fond memory to linger over the 
bright and happy scenes of seven golden years, in 
which I so highly enjoyed the benefits of this noble 
institution, from which, at the close of 1844, I gradu- 
ated with the high compliment from the Board of 
Managers that I had well learned all that was there 
taught. 



ON LEAVING THE NEW-YORK INSTITU- 
TION FOR THE BLIND. 

Adieu, adieu, my long loved home, 

Where genial spirits dwell; 
For I must bid thy hearth and halls 

This day a sad farewell. 
Thy vesper bell will peal at eve, 

But not, alas ! for me ; 
For I shall be alone and sad 

Far, far away from thee. 

Adieu, adieu, my guides beloved, 

I may no longer share 
Your kind regards, your patient toil, 

And ever watchful care. 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 55 

Oh, fain with you I'd linger still 

And more of knowledge gain; 
But 'tis decreed that I must go, 

The wish to stay is vain. 



Adieu, adieu, companions dear, 

My sisters, brothers, friends; 
This day completes my stay with you, 

This day our union ends. 
But oh, how can I, can I bear 

To breathe the parting knell, 
That bids me tear my heart away 

From those I love so well. 



Adieu, adieu, it must be so ! 

The moment now is near 
That bids me haste from you away, 

My long-loved schoolmates dear. 
When ye this eve at vespers meet 

To chant a choral lay, 
Oh, breathe for her one heartfelt prayer 

Who will be far away. 

Adieu, adieu, ye noble sires, 

Whose philanthropic hearts 
Have formed a plan that e'en the blind 

May learn the useful arts. 
Expressions tit your praise to speak 

I know not where to find ; 
May God reward your efforts made 

To educate the blind. 



56 LOST VISION. 

Adieu, adieu, to happy hours 

That learning did employ, 
And gave for every moment's toil 

A sweet reward of joy. 
For they will be no longer mine, 

My school-day joys are o'er; 
Far dearer should I prize them now 

Could they return once more. 



Adieu, adieu, to morning walks 

Along the Hudson's side, 
Where oft amid the rocks we heard 

The music of the tide. 
And wanderings at twilight hour 

Through grove, by hill and stream, 
That I have ever fondly prized, 

But dearer now they seem. 

Adieu, adieu, to music's charm, 

From it, too, I must part ; 
Much shall I miss its magic power 

To cheer my lonely heart. 
Adieu, ye birds at early dawn, 

That near my casement sung ; 
While all around the waking flowers 

Their soft, sweet odors flung. 

Adieu, adieu, ye trees and shrubs, 
And pleasant play-grounds all; 

A voice for me is calling now 
From yonder front door hall. 



IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 57 

This stately domicile demands 

A parting farewell too ; 
But, oh ! 'tis sad with all we've loved 

At once to bid adieu. 



Adieu, adieu, my cloister home, 

With all thy hallowed ties; 
The precepts thou hast given me 

Most dearly shall I prize. 
Trials, perchance, await me now, 

I know not yet my lot; 
But be it weal or be it woe, 

Thou shalt not be forgot. 

Adieu once more, ye loved ones all ! 

Forgive these gushing tears, 
And all the wrongs I you have done, 

Through seven bygone years. 
And in your hearts still let me live 

Till ye are called to die ; 
Oh, now they lead me to the gate ! 

Loved home good-bye, good-bye ! 



CHAPTER VI. 



VARIOUS PURSUITS. 



I now returned to my home in Jersey City, where I 
was almost a stranger, and sadly missed the 
sympathy and society of my companions. My school- 
day dreams were passed, and " coining events cast 
their shadows before." My father had been in ill- 
health for some time, and though still attending to 
business, gradually failed, and in 1847 was attacked 
by a severe fever, which baffled all skill and care and 
resulted in his decease. This sad bereavement weighed 
heavily upon my heart and cast a deeper gloom on 
the dark clouds that shaded my path. Hitherto I had 
busied myself in various kinds of handiwork, which 
however, yielded me but a trifling income, and I now 
resolved to make some new effort that would in a 
measure render me self-sustaining ; but with the reso- 
lution came the dilemma as to what course I should 
pursue, or in what direction I had best turn my 
attention. Music at that time was not so generally 
enjoyed as now, and but few would have had any 
confidence in the abilities of a blind teacher ; thus I 
did not attempt the pleasant task of teaching that 
delightful science till twenty years later. Another 
source, however, from which I might derive some 
advantage, seemed to present itself. Shortly after my 
return from school, I became acquainted with the 



VARIOUS PURSUITS. 59 

sweet poetess, Miss Jean L. Bruce, then of this city, 
now Mrs. Washburn, of Yosemite, Cal., who frequently 
entertained me with choice readings, and, observing 
my extreme love of poetry, strongly urged me to culti- 
vate writing in verse, which would at least prove a 
pleasant pastime in my lonely hours. At first I de- 
clared my utter inability to do so, and half feared her 
suggestion was not sincere ; but by her kind and con- 
tinued efforts and entreaties I promised to try, and 
produced a short poem addressed to her which she 
pronounced very good, and had it published next day 
in a Jersey City paper called the " Telegraph." This 
inspired me with new hope, zeal, and courage, and in 
the course of two years I had written a number of 
poems which, in 1849, I collected and published in 
book form, under the title of " Poems by Alice Holmes," 
which proved a very successful enterprise. I employed 
no agents, but sold the book myself, which not only 
afforded me occupation but also enabled me to reap 
all the profits. The next year I secured a second 
edition, of which I readily disposed, chiefly among busi- 
ness gentlemen in New- York City, who are ever ready 
and willing to encourage and patronize any worthy 
effort. Two years later I conceived the idea of giving 
an annual literary and musical entertainment in Jersey 
City, which I at once carried into effect with most 
successful results. At first, I was assisted by several 
of my blind friends from New- York, among whom 
shone two brilliant stars, namely : Miss Frances J. 
Crosby, who still delights the world with her exquisite 
poetry, her Sunday-school hymns especially, and the 
late Professor Robert Elder, whose musical abilities, 
as far as known, have never been surpassed by any 



60 LOST VISION. 

blind performer. Mr. Elder, for forty-two years, was 
the accomplished and faithful organist of the Sixteenth 
Street Baptist Church, New-York City. As years 
rolled on, Time, by his ever-restless wing, wrought 
various changes in our home circle. My sisters all 
married and settled in Jersey City. Brother Thomas 
and family went to the Far West and made their home 
in Portland, Oregon, where he became one of the 
chief citizens and enjoyed many honors, and on the 
day previous to his lamented death was reelected 
mayor of the city. Brother David married in Detroit, 
Mich., where he still resides. Mother, brother Will- 
iam, and myself now composed our household; but, 
early in 1857, brother William was also induced to go 
to Oregon ; thus mother and I were left to " hold the 
fort " alone, which I was determined to sustain till the 
last gun should be fired. Though not very strong, my 
health was fair and spirits firm, which adversity seemed 
rather to stimulate than depress. I still wrote at 
intervals, and in 1858 had a fair collection of poems 
in manuscript which, with a few selections from my 
little book issued in '49, 1 published in a small volume 
under the title of "Arcadian Leaves," the sale of 
which again occupied my time; two editions were 
liberally patronized. In 1865 I was deeply afflicted 
by the loss of my dear mother, whose tender care, love, 
and sympathy had ever soothed my every sorrow, and 
cheered life's dark and rugged road; but such was 
God's will and it must be so. 

Music now was more generally cultivated and fast 
becoming the popular and refining enjoyment of every 
home circle, which much increased the demand for 
competent teachers; thus I improved the opportu- 



VARIOUS PURSUITS. 6l 

nity of adopting the profession I had so long desired, 
and devoted some time to the restudy of the theory 
and practice of the science, and formed a plain and 
easy method for piano instructions, and in February, 
1867, commenced teaching with one pupil, a boy, 
whose grave Bible name and old-fashioned manners 
rather amused me; but he was respectful and docile, 
and readily learned the names of keys, lines, and 
spaces, and to distinguish notes and rests ; but when 
I proceeded to teach him a five-finger exercise, he 
most positively assured me that he could not use his 
left hand. " Why not ? " I inquired. " What is the mat- 
ter?" "Oh, nothing," he answered, "only I can't 
use it, for I tried on my sister's piano the other day 
when she was out." I induced him to try again with 
me, and he was soon convinced that practice would 
obviate all difficulty. After a prolonged hour had ex- 
pired, and I knew he was glancing at the clock, I 
deemed it best to dismiss him; and after the little 
fellow had politely wished me good-morning and the 
door closed behind him, I seemed somewhat bewil- 
dered, and asked myself if I were dreaming, or if it was 
indeed real that I had commenced teaching music. 
I soon gained two other pupils, and in a few weeks 
had a class of ten, which still increased. Some of my 
pupils I taught at home and others at their own resi- 
dences, which afforded me a pleasant change of scene 
and society. I never wearied of the delightful task, 
and no teacher was ever favored with more agreeable 
pupils than it has been my happiness to instruct. I 
would here mention that in 1868, rather against my 
own judgment, I was persuaded to publish another 
collection of poems, called " Stray Leaves," to which 



62 LOST VISION. 

I could devote but little time; however, two editions 
were eventually disposed of. In. 1876, much to my 
regret, I was obliged to discontinue teaching away from 
my own home, in consequence of failing health, and in 
'78 and '79 my physical condition was such as to pre- 
clude all exertion, and in '80, the hitherto undis- 
covered cause of my illness assumed the worst form 
and death seemed inevitably imminent ; but, through 
a most critical operation for double strangulated 
hernia, under the skill and care of B. A. Watson, 
M. D., of this city, to whom I owe unlimited grati- 
tude, life was preserved, and my speedy restoration 
to a fair degree of health exceeded all anticipation. 
Scarcely a year had expired when I resumed my 
favorite employment of giving musical instructions. I 
greatly rejoiced that through fifty-one years of un- 
broken darkness which shrouded my existence, oft 
intensified by pain, care, sorrow, and adversity, my 
mental organs, discovered long, long ago by good 
Mr. Jones, still remained unimpaired, and life for me 
had yet many charms. Time, on gilded wing, brought 
new and varied scenes in which I found much pleas- 
ure. In 1883, by invitation of my brother William, I 
went to California, fully intending to remain there 
permanently ; but such was not to be, though nothing 
was lacking on the part of my dear brother to make 
me comfortable. I fretted for my dear old home and 
friends, and could not be contented ; thus, after pay- 
ing him a visit- of about four months, I returned to 
Jersey City. Of the jaunt I shall ever retain many 
pleasant memories and of California generally; but 
specially of Downieviile, where my brother resides, and 
is a member of the firm of Spaulding, Mowry & Co. 



VARIOUS PURSUITS. 6$ 

The courtesy and kindness with which I was treated 
by the good people of this far-away but famous moun- 
tain town can never be forgotten, and it is a source of 
deep regret that they can never know how fully it was 
all appreciated. For some time after my return from 
California I was very much unsettled : my heart and 
brain were overcrowded with the varied scenes of joy, 
sorrow, hope, anticipation, anxiety, disappointment, 
greetings, and farewells which had occurred in the 
short space of four or five months. Days were dark, 
and friends seemed strange and cold, and dense clouds 
of adversity overshadowed the sunshine of prosperity; 
yet I could not, would not yield to the gloom of idle- 
ness while God gave me health, strength, and ability 
to hold my place in the ranks of industry, and continue 
a fair fight in the hard battle of life. Thus, under 
many disadvantages, I once more resumed my employ- 
ment ; but 

" Old times were changed, old manners gone." 

Success vanished, and fickle fortune withdrew her 
smile. The last four or five years have been fraught 
with many trials and vexations, but still I have 
held my own and struggled on, and owe the world 
nothing but love and good-will. Now, empty handed, 
with rather precarious health, but blessed with hope 
and courage, my brain clear and active, I have just 
reached the close of my sixty- seventh year, and though 
I have no desire to croak or whine about old age, yet 
even should I be spared to reach three-score and ten, 
I am well aware it will bring many wants and neces- 
sities for which I am most anxious to make some little 
provision, that I may not be entirely dependent upon 



d\ LOST VISION. 

my friends, and with this view have resolved to pub- 
lish a very brief reminiscence of my life with a few 
select original poems, in book form, which, I trust, 
a generous public may receive with the same warm 
and friendly greetings as my previous issues, though I 
am well aware on the score of literary merit I have 
little or nothing to claim. Many of my poems have 
been written on the inspiration of the moment, and 
the reminiscence is a brief, unvarnished production of 
memory ; still I hope the perusal of these pages may 
not prove wholly void of interest, and at least serve to 
awaken sympathy and kindness, not in behalf of the 
writer only, but for the unfortunate class generally 
whom it has pleased God to deprive of the inestimable 
and glorious gift of vision. Trusting in the favor and 
good-will of all, I cheerfully submit them for publica- 
tion. My amanuensis, Mrs. Mary H. Wright, who is 
my youngest sister, has for many years devotedly and 
most faithfully attended and assisted me in all my pur- 
suits, and still, with the love and sunshine of her pres- 
ence, banishes the gloom which otherwise, I fear, 
would render the declining years of my life dark, sad, 
and dreary. 



FAREWELL. 

Farewell, sweet days of long ago, 

With cherished scenes of childhood bright, 

And rosy youth, with all thy charms, 
Thy joys, thy sunshine, and delight. 



TO MISS FRANCIS J. CROSBY. 65 

And riper years with ardor fraught, 
To brave life's rugged, winding way, 

And courage high the heart inspired, 

And gladness crowned each closing day. 

And love and friendship, warm and true, 
That sweetly cheer fond memory still, 

Your vanished smile, your vacant place, 
No other joys can ever fill. 

And hope's fair star that lent its ray, 
Through every scene of weal or woe, 

When prospect shone with promise bright, 
Or sorrow caused my tears to flow. 

Life's waning years are close at hand ; 

On hurried wings they '11 glide away ; 
And though my days may linger long, 

Yet, short, alas ! must be my stay. 

When life with all its charms must close, 
And death shall sound the parting knell, 

My love and peace I leave to all; 
To all a kind and fond farewell. 



TO MY FRIEND AND CLASSMATE, MISS FRANCES J. 
CROSBY. 

A pleasing sadness o'er me steals, 
Like that which pensive music wakes ; 

While I a vanished pleasure sing, 
And of my soul possession takes. 



66 LOST VISION. 

Yes! Frances, dear, when I recall 

To mind those bygone, happy days, 
When we with youthful ardor sought 

The golden light of learning's rays, 
And shared each other's joy and grief, 

And daily worshiped at one shrine, 
And in our leisure moments sought 

Fresh budding wreaths of love to twine. 
And oft at twilight's rosy hour, 

Some favorite strain from thy guitar, 
An echo found in many a heart, 

As zephyrs bore its tones afar, 
And when beneath the willow's shade, 

Thou wouldst repeat enchanting lays, 
Thus newly by thy muse inspired, 

'Twas pleasure sweet to give thee praise. 
And e'en in sadder, darker hours, 

When grief or pain oppressed my heart, 
Thy tender care, thy counsels sweet 

Would to my soul new joys impart. 
And though those days fled fast away, 

Of them bright visions oft return ; 
And cherished sparks of friendship still, 

For thee, on my heart's altar burn. 
And Frances, dear, may I not hope, 

In all thy life, through good and ill, 
That she who treasures sweet thy name, 

May sometimes be remembered still ? 



FOND RECOLLECTIONS. 67 

FOND RECOLLECTIONS. 

TO MY BROTHER, DAVID HOLMES, OF DETROIT, 
MICHIGAN. 

In measured tones of love, brother, 

Sweet mem'ries come to me, 
And while enchantment lingers, 

I '11 fondly sing of thee. 

In days of long ago, brother, 

When youth was on our side, 
Thy hands were ever ready 

My darksome steps to guide. 

And oft thy boyish mirth, brother, 

My heart inspired with glee, 
While thou, in strains romantic, 

Rehearsed thy dreams to me. 

But time did changes bring, brother, 

And swept our joys away; 
In paths so widely distant, 

Life's future journey lay. 

But oft the scenes of yore, brother, 

In fancy I recall, 
And thy dear face and features 

Are mingled with them all. 

And in thy heart of hearts, brother, 

Keep mem'ries green of me, 
And still I'll fondly cherish, 

A sister's love for thee. 



68 LOST VISION. 

TO MISS MARY EVANS, OF PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

May gladness on thy youthful brow 
Shine ever bright and warm as now ; 
And purest love, with friendship twine, 
Their sweetest flow'rets at thy shrine ; 
And riper years for thee unfold, 
Earth's brightest jewels set in gold; 

And Time, upon his gilded wing, 
Unshadowed halos kindly bring; 
And sunbeams cheer thy future way, 
And life be all a summer day. 
And when its varied dreams are past, 
May heavenly bliss be thine at last. 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 

RECITED BY THE AUTHORESS, AT THE I9TH ANNUAL 

ANNIVERSARY, AT THE HOME FOR AGED WOMEN, 

ON FAIRV1EW AVENUE, JERSEY CITY HEIGHTS. 

Oh ! heart-inspiring words, familiar, sweet, 

What fitting name for age's calm retreat 

When busy life's most potent work is done, 

And nature, with declining years begun 

To yield the vital strength, the zeal, the fire, 

That rosy youth and riper years inspire ? 

When blighting cares have warped the heart and brain, 

And slow disease, perchance, with aching pain, 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 69 

Has checked the quick, elastic step so free, 
And cramped the hands that oft were wont to be 
With busy skill employed, the livelong day, 
To keep the wolf of poverty away ? 



When accents sweet no more may charm the ear, 

Nor vision bright the sight-dimmed orbs may cheer, 

When bonnie tresses, turned to silver gray, 

And beauty's sweetest charms have fled away, 

When three- score years have bowed the graceful form, 

And changed the mien of love and friendship warm, 

And life seems void of gladness, sun, and bloom 

And bids the pilgrim look beyond the tomb 

To Eden's land, with milk and honey blest, 

Where weary saints shall find eternal rest, 

Ah ! then, through ling'ring years, with ills replete, 

Who would not gladly seek this fair retreat, 

And find, with joy, beneath its peaceful dome, 

The shrine of unmarred rest — a home, sweet home? 

And gentle ladies who, with ceaseless care, 
The kindly task and heavy burden bear, 
To wisely plan, direct, control, and superintend, 
Make all affairs harmonious blend, 
What language can your worthy praise express ? 
But God your work of love will surely bless 
And prosper still the Aged Women's Home; 
Its garners fill with plenty's cheering bloom, 
Expand its shel'tring wings and borders fair, 
Till all who need may thus its comforts share. 
May genial wealth her kindly hand extend, 
And ever prove the Home's most loyal friend. 



yo LOST VISION. 

And ev'ry annivers'ry, on its wing, 

New patrons to these grateful inmates bring, 

And public favor on its portals shine, 

Its courts be filled with grace and love divine; 

And sweet content its social hearth attend, 

And peace, good-will, their mystic halos blend, 

And with the gems that mark our city's age, 

Bright may it glow on history's gilded page. 



TO MY LITTLE PUPIL, MASTER HARRY HINTEMANN. 

Now Harry dear, 'tis just a year 
Since first you came to school, 

And have been taught, as children ought, 
To value time and rule. 



And learned with me the ABC 
And simple words to spell ; 

And ev'ry day, I 'm glad to say, 
You studied very well. 



And then to read did next proceed, 

Despite of Ps and Qs, 
That oft appeared and looked so queer, 

They, children, quite confuse. 

The tables then, to ten times ten, 
Could say without mistake ; 

And figures made, with little aid, 
Which kept you wide awake. 



WREATH FOR AN ALBUM. 7 1 

And to recite, with great delight, 

Did easy verses learn ; 
And slate and book each morning took, 

To study them in turn. 

Nor did you fail to learn the scale, 

Where music is expressed ; 
And very well the value tell, 

Of measures, notes, and rests. 

But time, I fear, prevents me here 

All merits to recount ; 
But now rely, per centage high, 

I '11 give you full amount. 

And bright and gay may ev'ry day, 

Of glad vacation be, 
And when 'tis through your zeal renew, 

And come to school with glee. 



WREATH FOR AN ALBUM. 

While rosy youth is on thy brow, 
May gladness cheer thy heart; 

And future years sweet halos bring, 
When present joys depart. 

Should love, with dreamy, potent spell. 

Thy dearest hopes enshrine, 
May Hymen, at his altar blend 

Some faithful heart with thine. 



72 LOST VISION. 

And may life's journey all be bright, 
Nor dimmed by sorrow's ray; 

And hope's fair star unclouded shine, 
Where fortune leads the way. 

And loving hearts around thee twine, 
And friends prove warm and true; 

And flow'rets sweet, that will not fade, 
Thy pathway ever strew. 



PARTING WITH MY BROTHER, WILLIAM J. HOLMES, 
OF DOWNIEVILLE, SIERRA COUNTY, CAL. 

Though far away our steps we turn, 
Still oft for thee our hearts will yearn ; 
When thou no more our faces see, 
Still fondly shall we think of thee. 
When thy dear hands we may not clasp, 
Ours within their loving grasp, 
And we no more thy voice may hear, 
Tones in accents sweet and clear, 
Wishing each good-night or morn, 
At close of day or break of dawn, 
And though we listen at the door, 
Thy welcome steps will come no more. 
Ah ! then for thee our tears will flow, 
With a love thou may'st not know ; 
And our hearts will almost break, 
With repining for thy sake. 
Oh ! brother, dearest, kindest, best, 
Since we have been thy favored guest, 



TO MRS. JEAN BRUCE WASHBURN. 73 

Who e'er such tender care bestowed, 
As thou hast to thy sisters showed. 
Oh! cruel fate that bears the sway, 
And tears us from thine arms away; 
But hush ! sad muse, words cannot tell, 
The pain it gives to say farewell. 
But, brother dear, may joys be thine, 
And fairest skies above thee shine, 
And friendly hands and hearts be near, 
In grief or gloom, thine own to cheer ! 
Now must we part — the hour is nigh ; 
My heart will break ! good-bye, good-bye ! 



INSCRIBED TO MRS. JEAN BRUCE WASHBURN, OF 
YOSEMITE, CALIFORNIA. 

There is a gem of heavenly birth 

The good alone can prize ; 
A precious pearl of priceless worth 

Whose luster never dies. 
I found it where the muses tread, 

With footsteps light and free ; 
I stole it from its emerald bed 

My cherished one for thee. 

There is a pure and holy Thought, 

A balm for mortal woe ; 
With every gentler feeling fraught 

By angels murmured low. 



74 LOST VISION. 

And as it came at eventide 
In whispers soft and clear, 

I caught it ere its echo died 
And bathed it with a tear. 

Should sorrow e'er thy bosom fill 

Or clouds thy sky o'ercast, 
Oh, may these little treasures still 

Remind thee of the past. 
When mildly on thy placid brow 

The star of hope doth shine, 
Oh, may thy loving heart as now 

Still fondly cling to mine. 



CHRISTMAS. 

The Christmas time is coming, 
With visions bright and fair, 

And scenes of joy and gladness 
Shall banish grief and care. 

And dear familiar faces 

With sunny smiles shall glow, 
And greetings kind and joyous 

From heart to heart shall flow. 

And wishes warm and welcome 
Be said in friendly mirth, 

And loving circles gather 
Around the social hearth. 



CHRISTMAS. 75 

And echoes sweet be wafted 

To dear ones far away, 
And love with youth and beauty 

Twine garlands bright and gay. 

And festive boards be laden 

With viands rich and rare, 
Oh, would that not a household 

Might have a vacant chair. 

And Santa Claus as usual 

To little girls and boys, 
Will bring a Christmas present 

Of pretty books and toys. 

And merry bells with chiming 

Shall hail the happy morn, 
When in a lowly stable 

The Prince of Peace was born. 

And anthems high and holy 

In choral strains be sung, 
The church in grace and beauty 

With evergreens be hung. 

And glory in the highest 

We'll give to God above, 
Who peace, good-will to earth 

Hath sent us in his love. 

Oh, may this happy season 

With gladness on its wing, 
To every heart and household 

A merry Christmas bring. 



j6 LOST VISION. 

A VALENTINE. 

If but thy friendship pure and bright 
On me reflects its cheering light, 
The gloomy shades that cloud my way 
Shall all dissolve beneath its ray ; 
And true to thee in sweet return 
Its holy flame shall ever burn. 

TWILIGHT. 

In the twilight soft and rosy 

When the lingering shadows fall, 
Dreams of fancy, bright and airy, 

Vanished pleasures I recall. 
When my heart was warm and tender, 

When it beat so light and free, 
When it cherished, ah ! how fondly 

Love's sweet echo, caught of thee. 

Then with twilight soft and rosy 

Swift the light-winged zephyrs came, 
Breathing tones of love and po'sy 

Mingled with thy treasured name ; 
Then I listen till enchanted, 

To that sweet and thrilling strain 
.Of thy harp, so soft and gentle, 

I may never hear again. 

Would that twilight, soft and rosy 
When the lingering shadows fall, 

Still could bring the scenes of pleasure 
Which in fancy I recall. 



THY FATHER. 77 

Then my heart, still warm but weary, 

Most devoted, fond should be, 
Dreaming o'er with pure emotion 

Love's sweet echo, caught of thee. 



THY FATHER. 

TO MRS. N. C. HILLS. 

Weep not in sorrow, thy father is blest ; 
In Eden's fair land the weary find rest. 
Life's storms are over, all danger is past, 
He 's safe in the vale, he 's anchored at last ; 
Now firm on the Rock of Ages he stands, 
A crown on his brow, a harp in his hands. 
Washed in the blood of the Lamb that was slain, 
His robes are all white, they bear not a stain. 
The fair city's gate for him stood ajar, 
And welcomes of joy were echoed afar. 
He joins the sweet song the glorified sing, 
And worship, in truth, their Saviour and King. 
No sorrow is there, no sickness *or pain; 
No murmur is heard, none ever complain. 
No partings are known, no farewells are said, 
No lamentations, no wail for the dead ! 
No night cometh there, eternal the day ; 
The light is celestial, unclouded its ray. 
Life is immortal, with glory enshrined, 
And peace sheds its halo, with gladness combined; 
And Jesus reigns there, dispensing his love, 
And all is delight, in that s'^veet home above. 
Then sorrow no more, but look up on high, 
Thou 'It meet him again, in the sweet by and by. 
4a 



78 LOST VISION. 

TO MY NIECE, MRS. JAMES C. HUESTON. 

May joys to grace thy natal day 

Like golden sunbeams shine, 
And love and friendship at its dawn 

Their fairest flow'rets twine. 

And ever with its sweet return, 

May time on rosy wing, 
To glad thy heart, thy home to cheer, 

Life's brightest halos bring. 

And hope's fair star with luster beam 
Through all life's winding way, 

And peace serene, with grace divine, 
Attend thy latest day. 

July 21, 1886. 



LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 

In the midnight, dark and gloomy, 
Fondly musing o'er the past, 

When enchanting pleasures bound me 
To the scenes that could not last, 

By my bedside, light and airy, 
Ling'ring footsteps seem to fall ; 

Forms familiar hover round me, 
Pleasing shadows grace the wall. 



LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 79 

Then in accents soft and tender, 

Voices still to mem'ry dear, 
Breathing tones of fond affection, 

Sweetly fall upon mine ear. 

Then methinks, my dearest mother, 

Dwelling now in realms of bliss, 
Twines her loving arms about me, 

Greets me with a gentle kiss. 

And my father, long departed, 

Now his smiling face I see, 
With his manner kind as ever, 

Fondly still caressing me. 

And my brothers, loved and cherished, 

Though in exile now they roam, 
Seem to join the broken circle, 

Clasping once our happy home. 

And my sisters, kind and gentle, 

Hail the wonders with delight, 
While in vacant spaces rising, 

Absent friends appear in sight. 

Thus, the midnight, dark and gloomy, 

Sheds for me its brightest rays; 
While in fancy, almost real, 

Comes the " Light of Other Days." 



80 LOST VISION. 

A GREETING TO MY AUNT, MRS. CHARLES MUSK, OF 

ORANGE. NEW JERSEY, ON HER SEVENTY-SEVENTH 

BIRTHDAY. 

My love with warmest greetings, 

I waft, dear aunt, to thee, 
And trust that bright with gladness, 

Thy natal day may be. 

And tranquil years most peaceful, 

To Seventy-seven succeed, 
And ev'ry shade of sorrow, 

To joyous fountains lead. 

And when earth's scenes shall vanish, 

And Jordan's stream -is past, 
May gates of glory open, 

To welcome thee at last. 

And in that home of promise, 

We'll hope to meet again, 
And with the blessed Saviour, 

Through endless ages reign. 



ERIN. 

DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, CHARLES TAGGART, M. D. 

Oh ! tell me a tale of that sunny isle, 

Whose shores are kissed by the ocean wave, 

Where the shamrock blooms and the daisies smile, 
'Tis the home of the noble, the true, and brave. 



TO MISS SADIE CONSTANCE TRAPHAGEN. 8 1 

Oh ! tell me a tale of the bards that sung, 

To Erin's heart in the days of yore, 
To the harp whose silvery cadence rung, 

Through the vine-clad bowers of that Emerald shore. 

There are thoughts that come in the twilight dim, 
When the bird sings low in its quiet nest, 

When Nature is chanting her vesper hymn, 
Ere she sinks on the bosom of night to rest. 

And they whisper soft of those halcyon hours, 

When thy young heart dreamed and thy step was free, 

When the wild sweet music of Erin's bowers 
Was weaving a mystic charm for thee. 

There are crystal drops that in silence start; 

And oft in the beams of a favorite star, 
Full many a sigh from thy yearning heart 

Is borne away to that land afar. 

Oh ! tell me a tale of that sunny isle, 

Whose shores are kissed by the ocean wave; 

Where the shamrock blooms, and the daisies smile, — 
Tis the home of the noble, the true, and brave. 



TO MISS SADIE CONSTANCE TRAPHAGEN. 

At friendship's hallowed altar fair, 
Thy praises would I sing, 

And flow'rets sweet thy path to strew 
In fragrant numbers bring. 



52 LOST VISION. 

Sweet child, upon thy sunny brow, 
What gifts and graces shine; 

Thy face and form shall laurels win, 
At beauty's rosy shrine. 

Thine eyes bespeak a gentle soul, 

A spirit born of light ; 
A mind serene, so pure and chaste 

That evil cannot blight. 
May fairest scenes of life be thine, 

Undimmed by sorrow's ray, 
And loving hearts around thee twine, 

And friendships ne'er decay. 

TO MISS ANNIE CONNORS. 

May time upon his rosy wing 
To thee unshaded halos bring, 
And purest joys around thee twine, 
And hope's sweet star above thee shine. 
And future scenes prove bright and fair, 
Unblighted by the hand of care, 
And fortune kind thy path attend, 
And life be sunshine to the end. 

NUMBER THREE. 

RECITED BY MASTER WILLIE T. HEGEMAN, AT PUBLIC 
SCHOOL, NUMBER THREE. IN 1863. 

I'm called upon to make a speech 

And cannot well refuse, 
So by your leave I'll now proceed — 

All errors please excuse. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MISS ELLA L. THOMAS. 8$ 

This happy place shall be my theme ; 

I think you will agree, 
That other schools are far surpassed 

By this, fair Number Three. 

Our teachers are so good and kind 

We love them all, you see, 
And that's the reason children learn 

So fast at Number Three. 

No partial favors do they show, 

But as we each deserve 
A kind reward or punishment 

They give without reserve. 

When I have grown a great big man, 

How happy shall I be, 
To think of all that [ have learned 

At famous Number Three. 

These brief remarks I now must close, 

As others here, I see, 
With eager lips would testify 

Their love for Number Three. 



TO THE FOND MEMORY OF MISS ELLA L. THOMAS. 

Oh ! darling Ella, can it be in rosy youth and 
beauty's bloom 
That life from thy fair form has fled 
And we must bear thee to the tomb : 



84 LOST VISION. 

Prepare in grief thy narrow bed 
And lay thee down in death's repose, 

And weeping, take our last fond leave 
And see the grave upon thee close ; 

And turn in sorrow from thy side 
And leave thee, dearest, cold and lone, 

Where autumn winds with solemn dirge 
Above thy mound will sadly moan ? 

Oh ! darling child, oh ! daughter dear, 
What gloom will shroud our social hearth 

Where we shall miss thy sunny smile, 
Thy winning charms, thy simple mirth. 

And brothers kind and sister dear 
Will fondly mourn thee, but in vain. 

Thy face we may not see again, 
But cheering hope inspires our hearts 

With faith to look beyond the tomb, 
And view the land of promise fair 

Where thou hast gained a blissful home. 
There, safe within the Saviour's fold, 

Thou art with life and glory crowned, 
And we will trust to meet again 

Beyond the bright and shining shore, 
Where pain and sorrow are unknown 

And death and parting come no more. 

TO MY YOUNG FRIEND, LUELLA STACKUS, OF 
DOWNIEVILLE, CALIFORNIA. 

Gay, bright, and happy, still for thee 
May childhood's golden moments be, 
And future years with gladness shine 
And sweetest flow'rets round thee twine. 



TO MISS ELLA HOLMES. 85 

And friendship pure, with sunny ray, 
Chase ev'ry cloud of care away ; 
And love unfold his gentle wing 
And to thy heart sweet incense bring. 



TO MISS ELLA HOLMES, ON HER BRIDAL DAY. 

To see thee, dear Ella, we haste with delight. 
At Hymen's bright altar thy bridal vows plight; 
Where love, youth, and beauty attend at thy shrine. 
A true heart waits fondly its union with thine. 

And life seems enchanted with visions so fair, 
All glowing with sunshine, unshadowed by care ; 
And friendship weaves garlands to strew in thy way, 
And hope's star is beaming with heart-cheering ray 

And love's warmest wishes we tender thee now, 
That joys ever crescent may shine on thy brow ; 
And pleasures the sweetest flow close at thy side, 
And time bring thee treasures of honor and pride. 

And fortune with favor smile sweetly and kind, 
And halos of gladness with peace be enshrined ; 
And far in the future on life's sunny sea, 
Scenes that are brightest we augur for thee. 

And ever thy journey be fraught with delight, 
No shadow to darken, no sorrow to blight ; 
The star that now guides thee devoted attend, 
Thy bridal vows cherish with love to the end. 



86 LOST VISION. 

THE GRAY MULE. 

To the memory of the brave gray mule which lately 
lost his life by slipping on the ice, which had formed 
on the steep and narrow paths, causing him to fall and 
roll a distance of 500 feet down the mountain-side. In 
his descent he struck and broke off a young oak-tree, 
four inches in diameter. He was owned and highly 
prized by the firm of Spaulding, Mowry & Co., of 
Downieville, Sierra County, CaL, to whom these lines 
are respectfully dedicated. 

Alas ! brave mule, thy race is run, 

Thy packing journeys o'er; 
Along the trail on mountain steep 

Thou may'st not travel more. 

Oh ! sad mishap that did betide 

Thy path with danger rife, 
That hurled thee down the mountain-side 

And robbed thee of thy life. 

The miners watch with anxious eye 

Thy welcome form to greet, 
Who on thy service have relied 

For stores of bread and meat. 

Another now thy place must fill 

To bear them due supplies, 
And thou wilt rest in calm repose 

Beneath fair S'erra's skies. 



TO THE RICH. 87 

Thy masters, too, will mourn thy fate, 

That thus thy life should end ; 
Thou hast a faithful servant been 

On whom they could depend. 

Thy courage, strength, and worth 

Will long remembered be, 
And when they speak of noble mules 

High praise they'll give to thee. 

And though to mark thy verdant grave 

No sculptured stone is seen, 
Yet those who mourn thy vanished form 

Will keep thy mem'ry green. 



TO THE RICH. 

Oh! do not turn away the poor that trembling seek 

your aid, 
But give a little from your store and you will be re- 
paid; 
For God himself declares in His most gracious Word, 
" That he who giveth to the poor but lendeth to the 

Lord." 
Nor coldly pass affliction's child whose heart is wrung 

with grief, 
But breathe in accents sweet and mild kind words that 

bring relief; 
For he who shares another's woe, another's burden 

bears. 
For him in sorrow's night shall flow the sympathizing 

tears. 



88 LOST VISION. 

Nor treat with scorn the erring one who would his 

steps retrace, 
But kindly teach him how to shun temptation and 

disgrace ; 
For he who back to virtue leads a brother gone astray, 
For him the blessed Saviour pleads when snares beset 

his way. 



TO MY FRIEND, MRS. BESSIE SHAFFER, ON HER 
BIRTHDAY. 

To grace thy welcome natal day 
I would this simple tribute pay, 
And trust each year on brighest wing 
May halos sweet unnumbered bring. 

And thy fair barque on life's broad tide 
O'er calm and peaceful waters glide. 
When summer flowers shall pass away 
And scentless, dead, and withered lay, 

May autumn leaves around thee twine 
And shed their incense at thy shrine, 
And friendship's flame, when tears may flow 
With golden light, unchanging glow, 

And blessings fair with love divine 
Be ever fondly, wholly thine, 
And sweetest peace thy home attend 
And life be joyous to the end. 



TO PETER KELLY. 89 

TO MY FRIEND, PETER KELLY, OF DOWNIEVILLE, CAL. 

I'm not the saint 
That you would paint, 

But sinner here below ; 
Yet oft, ah ! me, 
I think of thee, 

And tears of friendship flow. 

And to return, 

My heart doth yearn, 

To S'erra's mountains fair, 
Whose caps of snow 
In beauty glow 

When sunbeams linger there. 

And Yuba's lay, 
Through night and day, 

Its tuneful murmur blends 
With birds of spring 
That gayly sing 

Till autumn's season ends. 

And woodland game 
Grow almost tame 

Where farmers till the soil, 
And wealth untold 
In veins of gold 

Repay the miner's toil. 

There foes are few 
And friends are true 

And hearts beat light and gay, 



90 LOST VISION. 

And life doth seem 
A happy dream 

Unmarred by sorrow's lay. 

What did beguile 
My heart the while 

To leave my brother dear, 
And friends to weep 
In lieu of sleep 

Who loved me most sincere. 

Ah ! fickle fate, 
Be not too late 

Nor let me plead in vain, 
But waft me back 
By steam and track 

To Downieville again. 

And there abide 
Till life's last tide 

Shall bear my soul away, 
To soar above 
On wings of love 

Where shines eternal day. 

Now, till we meet 
And kindly greet 

Each other face to face, 
May I by thee 
Remembered be 

And in thy heart have place. 



VISION. 91 

THE PAST. 

Mournfully, pensively, o'er the bright past 

Sorrow's dark shadows a gloominess cast ; 

From fond beating hearts, young, happy, and gay, 

The sunlight of hope has faded away ; 

And fast-fleeting time has borne on its wing, 

Loves, that no future unmingled can bring; 

And deep fretting care like mildew or blight 

Has dimmed the bright eye that beamed with delight ; 

And unsparing death has ta'en for his guest 

The young and the fair, the dearest and best; 

And heart-thrilling joys that once lit the brow, — 

How have they vanished ! Oh ! where are they now ? 

All shrouded in gloom are the bright days of yore, 

And visions of fame enchant us no more; 

And sweet blooming youth has turned to decay 

And life like a dream is passing away. 



VISION. 

The sun in his glory unclouded may shine 

And light, the bright essence of wisdom divine, 

With radiance invest the arches of space, 

And beauty all nature adorn with her grace. 

The stars in their orbits may glisten like gold, 

And the queen of the skies her treasures unfold ; 

The twilight at even soft halos may shed, 

The bright rosy morning new glories outspread, 

The hill and the valley in verdure be clad, 

And sunbeams the streamlets make merry and glad ; 



92 LOST VISION. 

And bright blooming flowers in summer may glow 
And winter be mantled in raiment of snow; 
And kind laughing eyes may gaze with delight 
On the form that is fair, enchanting, and bright. 
And jewels most precious in clusters may shine, 
And beauty hold captives entranced at her shrine ; 
But all these bright visions which God has designed 
Are shrouded in darkness and hid from the blind. 
But wisdom and knowledge, twin daughters of light, 
May beam on the spirit that's burdened with night; 
And learning and science which sages- unroll 
Illumine the reason and flash o'er the soul ; 
And music and po'sy their halos may blend 
And visions of beauty in glory transcend ; 
And fancy, unfettered, bright gem of the mind 
May gild the dark shadows that circle the blind; 
And gladness of heart shall glow on the face 
When pages of story our fingers may trace; 
And sorrow and sighing be mingled with joy 
When sweet occupation our efforts employ. 
Though shaded and gloomy our pathway may seem, 
And hopes we have cherished be changed as a dream, 
And storm after storm our sky overcast, 
And bright airy castles be crushed in the blast, 
Yet life's fairest flowers together we'll twine, 
And hearts that are warmest with love we'll enshrine, 
And hopeful and happy we'll banish despair, 
And life's transient evils with patience we'll bear ; 
And sweet be the pleasures they ever may find, 
Who sunshine and gladness have shed on the blind. 



CLIPPINGS FROM NEWSPAPERS. 



THE EXTRAORDINARY CAREER OF A BLIND WOMAN. 

Jersey City, January 27, 1885. 
To the Editor of the New- York Dispatch : 

Dear Sir : An article appeared in your issue of December 
7th last, which treated of the work of blind people, and which gave 
a short biographical sketch of those who had attained the most 
prominence in literary circles. Among those mentioned was 
one with whom I have had the pleasure of being acquainted for 
a number of years past. I can appreciate the reasons why you did 
not treat at greater length of the lives and works of these persons 
individually, but I think it is due to her as well as her many 
friends that she should have been brought out more prominently 
than she was. It is for this reason that I send you a short sketch 
of her life, a career which, considering the condition of the per- 
son referred to, is indeed remarkable, not to say marvelous. As 
a rule, intrinsic worth and merit are recognized by the American 
people and particularly by the exponents of their thoughts and 
feelings — the public press, no matter what position the person 
holds in the social scale, no matter what, through force of circum- 
stances they are obliged to undergo. There is probably not a 
woman alive to-day who has worked so hard, so faithfully, so 
energetically, and who has done so under the most discouraging 
circumstances, as has the subject of this article, Miss Alice A. 
Holmes; in fact, to use her own words, she has spent her whole 
life "in writing, in fighting, and in love." At the age of seven- 
teen she became a pupil at the New- York Institution for the 
Blind, and there she had as her friend and classmate that bril- 
liant scholar, Miss Frances J. Crosby, of whom she now speaks 
in glowing terms. At the age of twenty-four, Miss Holmes 
graduated from this institution, having mastered all the branches 
there taught. She immediately began her career as a writer, 



94 NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS. 

and her first effort, a book entitled " Poems by Alice Holmes," 
was published in 1848, and met with immediate success. A few 
years later she published two other volumes of poetry; one 
" Arcadian Leaves," and the other" Stray Leaves." All these pro- 
ductions reached a second edition, and met with much approba- 
tion. Miss Holmes is now about sixty-four yearsofage,andthough 
she has undergone a continuous and discouraging strife, she 
still retains much of her youthful vigor and vitality. She is a 
fluent talker, a hard student, and is unusually gifted as regards 
her powers of memory. It is indeed a rare literary feast to spend 
an evening in her company, for she not only recites original 
poems of a high order of intelligence, but has read the works of 
all the prominent authors, and quotes from them with surprising 
correctness. The chief object of her pride however, is the suc- 
cess she has met with as a musician and teacher of music. She 
points with pride to the ability of her pupils, some of whom can 
be found in all the principal cities, where they have become dis- 
tinguished, both as teachers and in social circles. She has 
always enjoyed the reputation of being an exceptionally talented 
woman, and, considering her blindness, her works are really 
wonderful. During years of hard work, discouragement, sick- 
ness, and adversity she has never succumbed, having always 
been buoyed up by her happy disposition. 

Medicus. 



[From the New- York World, j 

KEEPS DICKENS'S MEMORY GREEN. 

A BLIND WOMAN WHO REMEMBERS THE NOVELIST'S 
GENEROSITY. 

One of the brightest and happiest women in Jersey City 
is Miss Alice A. Holmes, the oldest and most noted blind 
resident of that city. A classmate of Miss Frances J. Crosby, a 
musician and writer of poems, Miss Holmes has led a very 
active life, with too little time to grow old or become despondent. 
A "World" reporter called upon her at her home, 248 York 
Street, yesterday afternoon. She has lived in Jersey City since 



NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS. 95 

1830, and now, at the age of sixty-seven, is spending the close 
of her days in writing an account of her life and reminiscences of 
those she has met. " I am not writing for name or fame," she 
earnestly said, " but for what money there is in it. I have always 
been obliged to work hard for my own support, and it was a 
puzzling question, at first, what to do. I began to write verses, 
and in 1848 published a book entitled ' Poems by Alice Holmes.' 
In i860 I published 'Arcadian Leaves,' and in 1868 had my 
last book, ' Stray Leaves,' issued. I have been working all 
winter on my new book, which I hope will pay, as I am not now 
able to do hard work, and have not enough means to support me. 
For several years I taught music, and had eighteen or twenty 
pupils at a time." An interesting incident in the visit of the 
younger Dickens to Jersey City was an interview Miss Holmes 
had with him after one of his readings. When the elder Dickens 
was in this country, he gave $1700 to Dr. Howe, of Boston, to 
have " Old Curiosity Shop " printed in raised letters for the blind. 
Miss Holmes sought an interview with the novelist's son, to ex- 
press to him her gratitude for his father's generosity. At the 
recent anniversary of the Old Ladies' Home, of Jersey City, 
Miss Holmes read an original poem, which was declared to be 
the gem of the entertainment. 
March I, 1888. 



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